


Spoils of Conquest

by Espereth



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Civil War (Skyrim), Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Loyalty, M/M, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexis Levitas is an ex-mercenary who fights for the Stormcloaks. After defeat in battle, he and many of his company are captured by Imperial Legionnaires. To save a fellow soldier from rape, he offers himself up to the Imperial Legate and his men.</p><p>For those who are short of time/attention/whatever, the pr0n starts about 3/4 of the way through Chapter 3. Go on and skip to it, I won't be offended ;)</p><p>----</p><p>Alexis' story continues. Thanks to everyone who is reading :) I'm writing new chapters when time permits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rout

**Author's Note:**

> For the kinkmeme: http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4580.html?thread=9530340#t9530340

On a Winter's morning, a small valley east of Helgen rang to the sounds of war. Rocky peaks around the valley echoed with the clash of steel on steel and the screams of dying soldiers.

Alexis Levitas was in the thick of it, where he belonged; but this young Imperial fought for the Stormcloak Rebellion. The rebels had no horses, and they wore light armour instead of heavy steel. At first they'd had the weight of numbers from the Stormcloak camp in the nearby hills, but Alexis was beginning to realise that was not enough. Their numbers were dwindling fast.

The melee raged around him. Alexis saw comrades fall and could do nothing for them but fight on. His blade was dripping with Imperial blood. His right shoulder felt dangerously numb after taking a glancing blow from a warhammer hefted by an Imperial soldier as big as any Nord. The ground underfoot was churned to mud, shaking from something that sounded like distant thunder. He smelled blood and smoke and burning flesh; the Imperials had a mage in their ranks. 

"Alexis!"

He turned his head to see a young soldier named Eygret Iron-Hilt dart towards him from the fray. She caught his arm and spun him around. "Cavalry," she yelled, and he realised the source of what he had taken for thunder: The approach of mounted men.

He ran towards the sound, cutting his way through. A tall Imperial soldier was in his way. Alexis seized the bigger man by the visor of his helm, pulled his head back to expose his throat and plunged his blade home. The helm fell off as the Imperial soldier tumbled to the ground, and Alexis realised that despite his height, he was more boy than man.

"Mara keep you," Alexis said to the dead boy, and looked up to a line of cavalry advancing, glaives readied.

"FUS… RO DAH," he Shouted, aiming his Voice at the centre of the Imperial formation. 

Men and horses were blasted backwards, skidding on the rocky ground in a tangle of broken bodies and weapons. Horses squealed like dying Daedra as they thrashed in agony, their riders crushed beneath them. Alexis knew that sound would haunt him all his days.

The remaining cavalry wheeled around to charge again, the men in the flanks drawing together. Alexis' head spun from the effort of his Shout. Again he wished he'd trained longer with the Greybeards, learned more, grown stronger… It was too late for that, though. 

Something caught his eye - the glimmer of fine steel on the helms of a group of mounted Legionnaires who had been separated from the main charge. Alexis recognised the decorated plume on the man in the centre of the group, and a thrill of excitement surged through him. This was the Imperial Legate and his bodyguard. If only they could take down the Legate, perhaps something could yet be salvaged from this rout. But to get to the Legate, they would need to separate him from his bodyguard.

Ralof of Riverwood, the Stormcloak's commander, was nowhere to be seen. Alexis grabbed the nearest stormcloak he saw, and was relieved to see that he had found a capable old soldier named Jorga. He was not as strong or fast as some, but the younger men looked to him. He could rally them.

Alexis was still unable to speak, his throat paralysed in the aftermath of his Shout. He pointed to the Legate, then his bodyguards, and Jorga nodded. 

"Take 'em down, boys," bellowed Jorga, and battle cries rang out as Stormcloak soldiers swarmed to engage the bodyguard, drawing them away from the Legate.

Alexis found himself face to face with the Imperial Legate. Through the visor of the plumed helm, Alexis saw that the man's narrow dark eyes were filled with contempt. 

"Traitorous filth," the Legate called, raising his sword. "I will enjoy this." 

Why, why hadn't Alexis trained harder at High Hrothgar? He desperately needed to Shout. Gods, he was an idiot. _Talos give me strength,_ he prayed, and summoned every scrap of will he had.

"FUS…", he Shouted, and his Voice gave out. He felt a moment of sickening despair as the Legate's horse remained on its feet, but then the beast was bucking, wheeling and panicking in confusion, deafened by Alexis' Shout. 

The Legate fought to control his horse but, mad with terror, it reared and bolted. The Legate hit the ground face-first with a clang of heavy armour. Alexis seized his moment. He had his war axe in his left hand; in his right was the big orcish dagger he used as a shortsword. He darted for the fallen man, hacking downwards with his axe just as the Legate rolled onto his back, bringing up his sword to block the swing he knew was coming. 

Alexis caught the edge of the Legate's sword in the cruel curve of his elven war axe, and pulled the man's blade aside to break his guard.  Blood streamed through the visor of the Legate's helm, probably from a broken nose. _You're the filth,_ Alexis wished he could say. _Legion scum._ Slaying an enemy commander in the thick of battle was much more satisfying when you weren't mute from Shouting. He raised the orcish dagger.


	2. Captured

From behind Alexis came a roar of anger, and the sound of steel cutting through the air with a  _whoosh_. Alexis threw himself sideways, rolling away from the Legate. He raised his axe in defence, but it did nothing to stop the heavy downward swing of the haft of a glaive. Alexis felt a dull thud as the weapon struck his temple; and then nothing.  
  
He woke with a headache like a spike driven through his skull, and opened his eyes with a groan. He saw bars around him, and the dirty straw of a dungeon cell. When he could focus enough to see more than a foot in front of his face, he saw Eygret Iron-Hilt huddled in a corner of the cell, long legs bent with her knees to her chest, back pressed against the iron bars. War paint in Stormcloak blue was smeared across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, blurred with mud and blood. Her long, fair hair had come free of its braids, and she was shivering. Alexis realised how deathly cold he was, too.  
  
"Where are we?" he said.   
  
Eygret shrugged, her face blank.   
  
Probably Fort Neugrad, he thought. With Helgen still a smoking ruin, Neugrad was the closest structure that would have a prison like this.  
  
Everything hurt, but the rest of his injuries were nothing compared to his throbbing head. He felt his forehead and found a painful lump. His hand came away sticky. He replaced his hand on the lump and tried to channel a stream of magicka to heal it, but nothing came. Then he noticed the heavy cuffs around his wrists. Alexis was no enchanter, but even he could see the faint glow of power on the cuffs. He was Silenced. That probably accounted for why he felt so cold, too - a person's body wasn't meant to be drained of magicka. From Eygret's shivering, he guessed that she'd been given the same treatment.  
  
Using the bars of the cell, Alexis pulled himself to his feet. His head spun and pounded, and he groaned again. Peering through the dingy prison, he could see other cells filled with his captured comrades. Unlike he and Eygret, the others were thrown haphazardly together, their cells crowded. Except for an occasional groan of pain, hacking cough or muttered curse, the dungeon was hushed; the grim, shamed quiet of defeated soldiers.  
  
"Eygret," Alexis said quietly through chattering teeth. "Are you wounded?"   
  
The girl ignored him, arms around her knees. A frown tightened the corners of her mouth. She'd never liked him, but Alexis hadn't let that worry him overmuch. He'd been a mercenary, before he'd met Ulfric Stormcloak, and a mercenary had to get used to fighting beside people who didn't like him if he wanted to work.   
  
"Eygret... Sister," he tried. That got a response. She looked at him with a flash of hate in her blue eyes.

"I'm not your sister, Imperial," she muttered.   
  
He sighed and slid his back down the bars of the cell to sit in the dirty straw. "We're Stormcloaks," he reminded her. "We can't let the enemy divide us."  
  
"Don't tell me what I can or can't do," she said. "And what would you know about unity, sellsword?"  
  
He sighed, rubbing his arms for warmth. This again. No matter how valiantly he fought in Ulfric's service, no matter how loyally he gave himself to the Stormcloak cause, Alexis feared he'd never escape his past.   
  
The Stormcloaks were a proud lot, even by Nord standards. Ulfric and his forces disdained anyone whose blade could be won with coin. Freedom and independence drove them. These were values that Alexis had come to respect, as he'd traveled north with Ralof after Alexis' own Empire had almost put him to the headsman's block. Most of Ulfric's men and women had accepted him, although they thought him strange. But a minority still viewed Alexis with suspicion.  
  
"I  _was_  a mercenary," he whispered. "And I might know more than you think. A small force, sworn to protect each other, can overcome odds that would see greater numbers of bought men break. I've seen it myself."  
  
Eygret looked at him with scorn. "You think we'll win this war if we love each other enough? You'd have done better as a priest of Dibella than selling your sword arm."  
  
He had to laugh at that, permitting himself to conjure up a brief, blissful image. Alexis couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be right now than the warm interior of the Temple of Dibella at Markarth. Soft furnishings at odds with the Dwemer architecture, a hot bath and scented oils, worshippers with gentle hands and quiet voices… Maybe Eygret was right. He should have served Dibella.  
  
He shook his head, dispelling the fantasy. "Fine, then," he said. "But at least try to keep your spirits up. For everyone else's sake, if not mine."  
  
"It's all right for you," she said, looking away.   
  
He was puzzled by that, at first; but then the reason for their separation from the rest of the prisoners occurred to him. There were very few women in the Legion's ranks. A host of soldiers, their blood high in the aftermath of victory, would think of tall, fair-haired Eygret as a fine prize. He should have thought of it sooner.

  
As for him, he was an Imperial who fought for an army of Nords. That's what the Legate had meant when he called him traitor. He'd known the risks of capture, when he declared for Ulfric, but now a sick knot of dread built in his stomach. This wasn't going to be a pleasant evening.


	3. Legate Gravius

A sudden gust of icy wind swept through the prison with a _whoosh_ , a thick door slammed shut. 

Imperial soldiers were coming. Alexis shot to his feet, Eygret doing the same beside him. They seemed to have similar ideas - if they were going to be beaten and humiliated, at least let the enemy find them on their feet. 

The quiet in the dungeon became silence. A man who had been coughing drew a breath and held it, forcing his rattling chest to subside. Heavy steel boots scraped and clanged on the stone floor as Legionnaires descended the steps to the cells. Alexis gave a grim smile; one thing he'd learned from Stormcloaks was the value of being able to move in silence. He'd always thought himself stealthy enough, but Ralof had laughed at him on their way to Windhelm. "You're so loud, you'd bring Reachmen to Riften," he'd said. Alexis had to learn to move quietly in Stormcloak mail before Ralof, or anyone else for that matter, would take him seriously.

Their Imperial captors, however, obviously never needed or wanted subtlety. The Legate approached, flanked by two of his bodyguards in heavy armour.

"What are you smiling for, scum?" The Legate stopped at his cell. The bridge of the Legate's nose was swollen, and one of his eyes was bruised purple; but apart from that, Alexis was sorry to see that he seemed uninjured. The Legate was a tall Imperial in his forties, broad-shouldered and lean. His short-cropped black hair was flecked with gray. With his heavy jaw, stern mouth, and dark eyebrows, he would have been handsome if his face hadn't been twisted in a sneer. He matched the descriptions Alexis had heard of Legate Gravius - an experienced Cyrodiilic commander with a reputation for cavalry command, and a cruel, short temper. 

Alexis straightened his face. Why _had_ he been smiling? How hard had that Legionnaire struck him on the head? 

Two bodyguards had accompanied the Legate. Together, the three of them made an imposing set - tall and battle-hardened, with the residue of battle still upon them.

The older bodyguard was not exceptionally tall, or broad, but his muscles were as heavy and corded as seasoned rope. His hair had been dyed a deep red, then shorn close to his skull. The effect would have been rather pleasing, in different circumstances, Alexis thought. He was older than the Legate, with the rough, scarred face of a veteran warrior. Evidently he had been chosen, not for his size, but for his skill on the battlefield. 

The second guard was closer to Alexis' own age, perhaps even younger, with a hard, smooth jawline and fair skin for an Imperial. He was tall - taller than most Nords - and with his wide, square shoulders, well on his way to a warrior's build, although he was still more slender than the Legate and his older henchman. It looked like this young man had compensated for his inability to grow a decent beard with the war paint that traced his cheekbones.

"So - this is the infamous Dragonborn," said Legate Gravius. "You don't look like much to me. Just another rebel, in need of the headsman's axe." Gravius' sneer deepened as he looked at Eygret. "So sorry to keep you waiting," he said. Eygret kept her face calm and blank. "But you need wait no more." He reached through the bars of the cell to touch her cheek, and she backed against the wall with mutiny in her eyes.

From a cell along the eastern wall, Jorga raised his voice. "If you so much as touch her," he snarled, "Ulfric Stormcloak will hunt you down himself and Shout you to pieces." 

"Really, old man?" said the Legate. "And how will he do that? I don't see him in here with you sorry lot." He nodded to the older, but shorter, of his two bodyguards. "Open the cell."

The bodyguard unlocked their small cell, grinning at Eygret. His eyes raked over her in a way that made Alexis' skin crawl. Alexis moved to stand between them, pushing Eygret behind him.

"Aren't you done fighting?" Alexis said, looking between the three Legionnaires. "Have you ever tried to take a Nord woman against her will?" The older guard's smirk answered for him, as he looked at the Legate. They were veteran Imperial soldiers in Skyrim. Of course they had. But there was a knowing hesitation to the old guard's smile that proved Alexis' point.

"It wasn't always such a great success, was it?" he said. "A Nord girl would rather die than submit to you. As I'm sure you know."

He had to be careful, now. If he implied that they couldn't rape Eygret, they would see fit to prove otherwise. He had to make them decide it was too much trouble to be bothered with her.

"We fought all the night," Alexis reminded them, "and well into the next day. I'm cold, and bone-weary, and not afraid to admit it. What I'd want, if I could have it, is someone warm and willing. Not another fight."

"Can you conjure us a willing woman, traitor?" said Legate Gravius.

"No," Alexis replied. He summoned all of that famous Imperial charm, so well-known, but so ephemeral when it came to deploying it. No matter what the politicians said, wars were won with weapons, not words. "But, lads," he said quietly, " _I_ won't fight you."

There was a deathly silent pause, and he wondered if Gravius would draw his battleaxe and have his head off on the spot. Then the Legate and his older guard burst into laughter. "Oh, you are going to regret those words, scum," said the Legate. "Many's the time I've longed to teach a lesson to a man like you. You are a traitor to your race, and to your homeland." He reached into the cell and seized Alexis by his hair to pull him out. 

Eygret clung to him, crying out, but the old guard slammed the cell door shut behind Alexis and locked her in. "No! Don't, please!" she begged. 

"Get your hands off him," Jorga shouted, and the dungeon erupted into chaos as the Stormcloaks threw themselves at the bars of their cells, shaking the doors and roaring their indignation. 

"QUIET!" Shouted the Legate. "If you'd rather we take that long drink of water," said Gravius, looking at Eygret, "Just keep on complaining."

"Be quiet, Jorga," Alexis rasped as Gravius hauled him to the centre of the circle, a hand still in his hair. The collar around his throat made it hard to raise his voice. "Please - there's no sense in more of us hurt."

He held up his hands, palms out, to show that he was not going to fight. Even still, he collected a cuff around one ear from the Legate before he was thrown to his knees, a heavy hand on the back of his neck.

Alexis felt his hair seized again, and his head was pulled back. 

"Men like you are the basest filth," said Gravius quietly, standing over him, a hand in his hair, "to throw in your lot with these barbarians. Levitas, isn't it?"

Alexis nodded as best he could with Gravius holding him by his hair. "Yes."

"Yes, Legate Gravius," corrected the guard behind him, driving an armoured boot into Alexis' ribs. All the wind was knocked from his lungs. He gasped for breath.

"Say it," said the guard, and Alexis felt the chill of a sword point at his throat.

"Yes, Legate Gravius," he managed, in a whisper. 

"Alexis Levitas," said the Legate. "If I ever meet your father, I will kill him myself, and the Empire will thank me for putting a coward to death."

Alexis felt his hackles rise at that, despite the fact that old Silas Levitas had all but disowned him years ago, when he'd opted for the path of a sellsword instead of a military career. Their estrangement wasn't particularly bitter; Silas had fathered six other sons, over the years, all of whom were respected enough in Cyrodiilic society to keep the old man happy. Still, the insult stung. Silas was many things - but a coward he was not. 

"My father's no coward," he said, unable to stop himself, and was rewarded with a back-handed blow from Gravius' plate-mailed fist. Alexis' head spun and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Talk back to me again, sellsword, and I'll have the girl on her back while you watch. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," he gasped, and felt his hair pulled tight. Tears sprang reflexively to the corners of his eyes. "Yes, Legate Gravius. I understand."

"Better." The Legate let go of his hair, and Alexis' head fell forward. He was shaking from the effects of the Silencing braces. He looked at his own hands on the stone floor - his dark-olive skin seemed paler than usual, despite being stained with dirt. His wrists were starting to burn from the braces and he wondered absently if his throat would burn, too, from the collar that stopped him from Shouting.

"You may start with this," he said and his tunic aside to reveal his erection seizing Alexis once more by his dishevelled hair. The sword point was cool on the back of his neck.

"Yes, Legate -" His words were interrupted as the Legate's hard cock thrust between his lips to fill his mouth with its thick length. The head was wet with arousal, and hot salt streaked across Alexis' tongue. Fearing the repercussions, Alexis forced himself not to pull away. Instead he tightened his mouth to draw Gravius in deeper. The Legate groaned in pleasure as he slid his length fully into Alexis' mouth. Alexis felt tight-curled hair press against his mouth and nose. The heavy, masculine scent of sex filled his nose, a scent that, in different circumstances, Alexis would have savoured. 

He shut his eyes, used his tongue to suck hard, offering firm resistance as the Legate pulled back, holding Alexis' head to ensure he didn't slip out entirely. Alexis desperately needed to steady himself - his thighs were tiring from holding his position. He couldn't risk moving. 

The older guard's sword point still pricked against his neck, reminding him of his tenuous situation. He was unsure of what to do with his hands to support his weight, avert the Legate's wrath, and avoid the cold blade against his skin; until the Legate began to make deep, pleasured grunts in the back of his throat, pumping harder into Alexis' mouth. Then Alexis slowly moved his hands to the Legate's hips, almost as a willing lover might hold his partner, bracing himself against the man's solid weight. He felt the steel of the Legate's armour under the palms of his hands, heard the metal reinforcement of the Imperial Legionnaire tunic clink against the iron cuffs around his wrists. The sword point remained, but it was steady, allowing him to take this new position.

Soon the Legate's thrusts came so fast that Alexis couldn't breathe. His head spun as though he was drunk as Gravius fucked his mouth, a hand twisted in his hair, and somehow he couldn't help but respond. He felt his own erection hard in the front of his tough leather trousers - the primitive response of his body to the hot thrusts, the taste of salt, the smell of sex. Gravius' hips began to shake under his hands, and all of a sudden a fresh tang of salt spurted across his tongue. 

Habit told him to swallow, and he heard the two bodyguards laughing as they noticed. Even still, the Legate's thick come slicked his mouth, spilling over to slide down his chin. The Legate grunted as the slippery mess nearly caused him to slide out, and seized Alexis' hair painfully tight as he spent himself to the full.

Finally Gravius pulled out, leaving Alexis to drop back to all fours, struggling to breathe, head hanging between his shoulders. He couldn't look up, at the captive Stormcloaks who surrounded him, who had just witnessed him servicing their enemy like a camp-follower whore. He wiped his mouth on his forearm. 

Soon he felt himself seized by one arm, spun around to face the Legate's guards. "You've had practice," said the older man, grinning. Alexis fought for breath, meeting the older man's tawny-coloured eyes. Deep lines wrinkled at their corners when he smiled, and an old scar split one eyebrow. He had good, straight teeth, for the most part, although a glimmer of gold replaced one or two of them. The younger guard was breathing hard, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. The young man looked away, face flushing, as Alexis caught his gaze. 

The older guard looked at Gravius, who nodded. He, too, was breathing hard, still recovering from taking his pleasure in Alexis' mouth. His eyes, though, were as cruel as ever. "He's yours, Darius," said the Legate; then smiled coldly. "For now." 

"Get your head back, sellsword," said Darius. He ran a hand through Alexis' hair as he obeyed, a calloused thumb brushing his forehead in parody of a lover's caress. "You're not finished yet."


	4. Conquest

By the time Darius had spilled his seed, Alexis' jaw ached, his knees were bruised, and the skin on his wrists was raw from the Silencing cuffs. Darius was rougher than Gravius had been, and Alexis had collected two or three hard cuffs when he was perceived too slow to respond to a command. He had done everything he had been bidden, thinking of Eygret and the other Stormcloaks. He wouldn't have anyone else harmed, if he could help it. And so he had, when ordered, stripped off his torn shirt, taken Darius' heavy, coarse-haired sac in his mouth, used his hands to pump the man's thick hard cock. 

But worst of all, despite his humiliation, Alexis was desperately hard. All the while the young guard watched, and when Darius pulled out to let his come spatter across Alexis' face, a low groan of need escaped the lad's throat.

"Ahh," Darius said, letting Alexis slump back to the dungeon floor. "Nothing like it, Marc, my boy," he said to the younger guard. "You ever had a prisoner?" 

The young man shook his head. "No, sir." 

Darius chuckled. "I know how it is," he said. "Maybe you'd rather have a girl, eh? I was like you, years ago. But there's not so much difference as you'd think."

He didn't reply, but as Alexis raised his head, their eyes met again. 

"You think about it, then," Darius told him. "Wait until the Legate's done with him." He saw Alexis looking at the boy, and his eyes narrowed. "What are you looking at, traitor scum?" He dealt Alexis a blow that knocked him flat, ears ringing and head throbbing. There was a murmur from the Stormcloaks, but the captives knew they were powerless; voicing a protest would only make everything worse.

"Save it, Darius," said Legate Gravius, a cold smile in his voice. He, too, had been watching while Darius took his turn. He had his own cock in his hand, pumping it slowly, enough to bring it back to full erection while stopping short of climax. "I still want him conscious. Now, Marcus - hold him for me."

Marcus crouched next to Alexis where he lay on the dungeon floor, and for a brief moment their eyes met again. The young guard's eyes were unreadable, apart from his arousal. Was he nervous, perhaps? Or even regretful of Darius' rough handling? Before Alexis could work it out, Marcus seized him by his bare arms and flipped him onto his front. 

"That's it, lad," said the Legate, easing himself down behind Alexis. "Get him on his knees, will you. Makes it easier."

Mailed hands dug into his hips, pulling Alexis to his hands and knees. He was shivering again, knew his body needed magicka. How long could you go without it, he wondered? Could you die from being Silenced? He'd never heard of it, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible…

The point of a sword pressed against his lower back, and his wandering thoughts were brought sharply back to reality. He bit his lip to silence a gasp of fear; and then his belt was sliced in two, the waistband of his trousers cut through, and soon enough he was bare-arsed in front of the Legate, the guards, and all his comrades. He stifled a moan of despair.

Darius roared with laughter to see Alexis' erection. "Look at this!" He nudged young Marcus with his elbow. "Are all Stormcloaks so eager for a Legionnaire's cock?"

How would he face his friends again? Alexis shut his eyes. Would he even be able to call these men "friends?", or would they shun him as a traitor, to be reviled by both sides? 

Gravius positioned himself behind Alexis, hands gripping the Stormcloak's arse, pressing his cheeks apart. The Legate's cock felt like warm steel, hot and hard, as he rubbed it against Alexis' tender hole. "Watch and learn, boys," Gravius said, laughing along with his men. He took the tip of his cock between finger and thumb, pressed it against Alexis' tight opening with a dab of wet warmth that was not barely enough to make him slick. Alexis buried his head against the shaking muscle of his upper arm and prepared to accept the pain. 

The Legate thrust, and Alexis felt his tight, tiny hole forced open as Gravius began to slide himself in dry. Alexis could not contain his agonised cry - it seemed to take forever, the Legate holding his hips with steeled hands, slowly but relentlessly pushing himself inside until the hard, corded muscles of the Legate's thighs were snug against Alexis' ass and the backs of his legs. Alexis' head spun, pain and humiliation engulfing him in a wave. He grasped for magicka, seeking to help himself to endure, before he remembered he was Silenced. 

A long moan filled the dungeon and echoed; and Alexis realised he was making the sound. Gravius' steely fingers bit into his hips as he slid out just a little, then slammed home again. Alexis gasped in fresh agony. He had been taken by men before, but never like this - by force, against his will, and without oil or anything to ease it. 

And yet, he was hard as he'd ever been, his cock stiff and erect between his legs as the Legate fucked him. There was a clang of steel on stone as Gravius dropped a mailed glove to the ground; and then the Legate reached around his waist, fingers tracing his shuddering belly, and then down to his cock, cupping it in his bare hand. He bent over Alexis, the heavy barrel of his chest against the Stormcloak's shaking back. The legate's mouth brushed Alexis' ear. 

"You are a whore," he murmured. His voice was a low rumble that sent unwilling shivers through Alexis' body. Gravius began to pump his cock in time with his own thrusts, drawing moans of pleasure and pain at once from Alexis' throat. "See how hard you are for me, traitor. You're a whore, just like Skyrim herself. How easy it is to make you bend knee to the Empire. That is your beloved barbarians' natural state, after all." Alexis found that he was pushing back against Gravius, most of his pain forgotten amid the Legate's rhythmic thrusts and the slide of Alexis' cock in his hand. "Isn't it?" 

Alexis, unable to speak, could only gasp. He felt his own need building in the pit of his stomach. The heat of Legate Gravius' body surged behind him, strong and brutal. 

"Isn't it? Answer me, traitor. Is subjugation not Skyrim's natural state? Is the Empire not her rightful ruler?"

"Gods, please -" He couldn't say it. He'd never forgive himself. Worse - the Stormcloaks would never forgive him. 

"I will give that pretty girl to Darius," Gravius whispered. "Answer me." 

"Yes," Alexis gasped. "Please, Gods, yes." Gravius was relentless, driving himself inside Alexis, wounding his body and soul at once. From the corner of his eye he saw Marcus with his cock in his hand, his young face flushed and breathless.

"Yes, what?"

"The Empire… is - is Skyrim's rightful ruler," he rasped, and heard Gravius' long, loud groan. 

"That's right. That's right, you - whore - _ahhh_ -" 

Gravius' body shook, both hands now returned to Alexis' hips, digging in hard. Hot seed began to fill Alexis in spurts until the dry, painful heat of his tight passage was slippery and wet. He felt Gravius holding himself back, fucking him with firm, inexorable control. He was going to make Alexis come. 

Alexis arched against him, feeling coarse hair and hard muscle along the length of his back. He felt his own climax building, helpless against the Legate's strong hands and the slick cock sliding inside him. He shuddered and cried out, feeling the Legate's arms wrap around him, and threw his head back against the other man's shoulder. Gods, it was good, so good, and if this is what conquest felt like, he was all for it, forever. His own come splattered his belly and thighs, and Legate Gravius' ran down between the cheeks of his ass. His head spun, and he felt sure he would faint, held tightly in Gravius' arms.

He shook for a long while, in dizzy warmth, until Gravius pulled out and let him slide to the stone floor. He lay still as his climax receded and the cold of the dungeon's stone seeped back into him. He realised that soft moans were still catching in the back of his throat, from a mess of sensation his body had become - pleasure, shame, pain, despair, and desperate need for magicka. 

"That's right," Gravius said, with a deep sigh. "The Empire is your ruler," he said, addressing the captured Stormcloaks. "And if any of you forget it, my men and I will be more than happy to remind you of your place." 

Legate Gravius looked at Darius with a smile, and nudged Alexis' shaking form with his boot. "Now," said the Imperial commander, "show Marcus here how it's done."

Alexis groaned, and forced himself back up to his knees. It was going to be a long night.


	5. Well-used

The Legionnaires used Alexis long into the night, there in the dungeons, in front of his captured friends.

Sometimes there was pleasure; and other times there was only the struggle not to break, to cry out in pain with each brutal thrust, or to collapse in despair. Always there was the knowledge that he must fight not to let pain and exhaustion overwhelm him, that the second the Legionnaires tired of him, Eygret would take his place.

He was beaten, too, of course; Darius' hard fists and steel boots left their marks. But Legate Gravius seemed to be holding the older guard in check. "Enough," the Legate had said, wiping blood from Alexis' split eyebrow after Darius' latest efforts. "You've damaged that pretty face enough." And Darius, although grumbling, had obeyed. For the most part.

When Gravius beat a prisoner, it was to punish or subdue him, or to break his will, to prove a point to others, or any number of reasons. That was not to say that Gravius didn't enjoy dishing out a thrashing; Alexis had seen that glimmer in a man's eyes before, knew that the Legate felt the thrill of power. But when Darius beat someone, it was different. 

Even so, Alexis could not deny that Darius, with his green-flecked eyes and weathered, rough-shaven face, was oddly attractive in his own way. Once, with Marcus holding Alexis' wrists behind his back, Darius had kissed him, rough and demanding, with a skill Alexis hadn't expected. His tongue slipped between Alexis' lips, penetrating his mouth, and Alexis found himself moaning in unbidden pleasure. 

"Let him go," Darius murmured, and then Alexis' arms were around the old guard's shoulders, one hand reaching to slide through the close-cropped fuzz of his red-dyed hair. Gods, what was wrong with him? Legend said the Dragonborn had an inborn will to dominate, but with him, it seemed the opposite was true. Perhaps he had been drugged, or spelled. Yes, he thought, moaning into Darius' scarred mouth. That had to be it.

Alexis climaxed twice, that night. 

Darius had been taking him again - Alexis had lost count of how many times he had been passed between the Legate and the old guard, now. Darius was not as rough this time, as though his appetite for violence had been tempered, or satiated, as the night wore on. This time was a slow, lingering fuck, Alexis on his knees, with Darius' seed and the Legate's mixed inside him, trickling warm and wet down the backs of his thighs. He had been dizzy, wavering by this point, having fainted once already; the drain of magicka was taking its toll. 

There was the dreamlike rhythm of Darius inside him, and then the Legate had tilted his head and smoothed his blood-tangled hair from his face almost tenderly, and slipped his cock into Alexis' mouth.

One man taking his ass, another his mouth; hard hands on his hips and in his hair. Darius was not one to give his victim a reacharound, but Alexis had not needed it: he'd caught sight of Marcus watching them, the young guard's eyes bright and his lips apart. That had been enough to push Alexis towards the edge. He began to moan around the Legate's cock as it slid in and out of his mouth, as the sex scent from the man's curled dark hair filled his nose, and he gently used three fingers to ease Gravius's sac into the palm of his hand.

"Divines, you _whore_ ," Gravius whispered, grunting in pleasure at the vibrations from Alexis' throat and the press of his fingers. "Traitor... filth..." 

Darius, hearing Gravius' pleasured moans, began to draw near to his own peak, fucking Alexis deeper and pulling notes of sweet agony from the Stormcloak's throat. 

"Are you a whore?" the Legate growled.

" _Mmmhm_ ," Alexis moaned. 

"A whore, and a traitor."

" _Mm, mm -_ " His mouth was full, his ass was full; it seemed his whole body was full, of the feel and the smell of men. Darius grew rougher, faster, and now all three of them were moaning together like lovers. Through half-lidded eyes Alexis saw Marcus swallow dry-throated, and then waves of pleasure subsumed him and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

The Legate spilled first, and again Alexis swallowed seed, again the hot salt filled his mouth and ran down his chin. By the time Darius began to buck into him in vicious spasms, Alexis was shaking and crying out, the Legate's cock wet and hot against his cheek, Darius' belly sticky with sweat against his back. He wiped his chin to slick the palm of his hand and reached for his own cock to pull himself to climax, beyond caring if he would be beaten for it. Everything was scent and seed, sweat and coarse hair, pleasure and shame and pain.

He collapsed in Darius' arms, and they shook together in the aftermath. The old guard held him until he had recovered his breath, then pulled out, extracting a moan of loss from Alexis. 

Darius got to his feet, grunting and wiping his cock. He gave Alexis a half-hearted kick in the ribs and looked at Marcus, taking in the boy's flushed face and the obvious bulge of his cock beneath his tunic.

"There's life in him yet, if you want your turn, boy," he said. Marcus had watched, all the while; he had even held Alexis for the other men to have him. But he had not taken his turn.

Marcus cleared his throat. "Not - not here, sir," he said. He looked at Legate Gravius. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Not one for an audience, eh?" Darius laughed. "Go on, boy. You'll do fine."

But Legate Gravius wrapped an arm around the young guard and squeezed his shoulder. "You fought bravely for me today, Marcus," he said. "You deserve to be rewarded. Go and get yourself something to eat and drink. When you return to your rooms, he'll be ready for you."


	6. Reward

Alexis remembered little of his transfer from the dungeons to the halls of Fort Neugrad. He did remember Eygret, looking at him through the bars of her cell as Darius led him away. Her eyes had been dry, her face unreadable, but her cheeks were stained with tears. He wondered what he'd really spared her from, hating what she'd seen and heard.

His knees had buckled half-way up the long staircase to the rooms where the Legate and his high-ranked officers and bodyguard were housed. Alexis tried to stay on his feet but found that, drained of magicka and nearly senseless from pain and exhaustion, his body had decided enough was enough, and refused to obey him. Alexis slumped to the stone stairs, shaking. He waited for Darius' boot to slam into his solar plexus, or for a mailed fist to strike his face, but neither came.

"Come on, lad," Darius said, crouching beside him. He lifted Alexis in his arms, hefted him over one strong shoulder, and carried him the rest of the way. 

Marcus' chambers were simply furnished. The Legion hadn't occupied Fort Neugrad for long, Alexis thought. Instead of a bed, on the floor Marcus had a mattress of thick canvas stuffed with straw and piled with wolf pelts and bearskins. A simple nightstand held a jug of water and a bowl for washing. There was a fireplace, cold now, but beside it was a pile of good logs to fuel it. A bear pelt softened the stone floor somewhat, but without a fire built, the room was as cold as the dungeons. Still, the fact that Marcus had his own chambers, however simple, suggested that he was more highly-ranked than Alexis had thought at first.

Darius stepped into the hall and caught a servant as she passed. "For Marcus," was all he said, nodding at Alexis, who had crumpled to the floor. "Get him ready." The woman nodded, and left to make preparations.

"Get up," Darius ordered, when the servant had gone, and Alexis felt he could have cried from despair if he'd had the energy. Shivering, he pulled himself up to his knees. "Up," Darius said, gripping his upper arm, and pulled him up so that their faces were a mere inch apart. 

"If you try a damned thing, Stormcloak," Darius growled, and Alexis nodded. He didn't need the threat to be completed to understand it. 

"Good." Darius stroked his cheekbone, thumbing a graze left by his own gauntleted fist. "Do everything Marcus tells you, and you'll survive the night." With fingers beneath the Stormcloak's chin, he tilted Alexis' head and kissed him slowly, more tenderly than Alexis had expected. Despite himself, despite everything, Alexis parted his lips and drew Darius' tongue into his mouth, a soft cry catching in the back of his throat.

"I want you to survive the night," Darius said, smirking. His voice was like fine gravel. The lines around his flecked, tawny eyes creased deeply as he smiled. "You are the best entertainment the boys and I have had in a long while. I think we'll be keeping you." 

With that, he gave Alexis' ass a squeeze and dropped him unceremoniously, letting him collapse back on the floor.

The servant woman returned with a strong lad in tow, bearing a big iron pot of water for the fireplace. The servant woman built the fire, swept the floor, changed the water jug. The lad had a length of chain which he fixed to the cuffs around Alexis' wrists, to restrict his motion. He would be able to perform basic tasks, but fighting was out of the question. 

Unless... Alexis imagined using the chain to wrap around Marcus' throat, tightening it until the boy stopped breathing. He shook his head. In his state, that scenario was about as likely as riding out of here on Alduin's back.

"When this water is hot," the servant woman said, "You clean yourself. Here's soap." She looked him over without bothering to contain her disgust. She was a short-ish Imperial in her thirties, with a plain practical face and a strong, plump body.

He was shivering, unable to stop. The cuffs still blocked magicka from entering his body. He was weak from it. The servant woman looked at him, taking in his hollow eyes, bruised cheekbones, split eyebrow and lip, the way he cradled an arm over his ribcage. 

"I can't heal you," she told him. "Restoration needs your own magicka." Her eyes were hard. If she regretted the way he'd been treated, it didn't show. Alexis would have no aid from her. She left a bundle of folded linen on the mattress. "Clothes," she said. "Change when you're clean." 

She left, locking the door behind her.

When the water was warm enough, Alexis sluiced off the foulness of the dungeon, the blood of the battlefield, and of course, the seed that matted his hair and clung stickily between the cheeks of his ass and down the backs of his thighs. 

He felt oddly detached as he washed. It was as though all this had happened to someone else. The man who had moaned and gasped for Gravius and Darius, who had swallowed their essence willingly and cried out for release in the hands of his enemies - that was someone else. 

He wiped his body clean and soaked his hair. Battle dirt and men's seed went the same way, dissolving in soap until the water turned grey. He rinsed under the collar around his throat, and grunted in pain as he bathed his burned wrists. Then he dried off with the strip of linen that had bound the clean clothes, and dressed - rough linen drawstring trousers and a cotton shirt. 

The whole time, he shook with cold, no matter how close he crouched to the fire. A wolf pelt draped over his shoulders seemed to do nothing. He was cold to his very bones, cold and aching. His lips were numb, his fingertips purple. At least he was clean, though. For now.

He was not much of a Dragonborn, he thought. He could not Shout. He could not cast a spell. He could not even fight.

 _Surviving is fighting,_ he reminded himself. He would survive. He would endure whatever he had to, be the Legionnaires' "entertainment", just as long as it kept him and his comrades alive. And then, when Ralof of Riverwood led a raid on Fort Neugrad, as he surely would - the Stormcloaks would slay them all. 

He was huddled by the fire, trying to untangle his still-damp hair when Marcus pushed the door open.

Alexis stood, unsteadily, to face him. He was beyond fear, and at any rate, Marcus was not Darius. Whatever was in store for him, it was unlikely to be another thrashing. He looked up at the tall young Legionnaire, who glanced away awkwardly, as though he hadn't fully expected to see the Stormcloak prisoner in his chambers. Such a towering young thing, Alexis thought. He carried himself well, though. Marcus was no slouching farm-hand. He stood in the doorway straight-backed and square-shouldered, incongruously holding a cloth-covered basket.

"I brought some things," Marcus said. Alexis smelled food, and his stomach rumbled unwillingly. 

The basket contained half a loaf of bread, a small jug of milk, and a wedge of cheese. Alexis took the basket and fell on the provisions, dunking the bread in the milk in order to eat it faster. The cheese was hard, and his jaw hurt as he chewed, but Alexis didn't care.

Marcus watched him eat, then nodded to a small vial in the basket. "Drink it," he said. 

Alexis took the vial, wondering what was in it. Darius had told him to obey Marcus; so he had no choice but to drink it. Still, he'd rather know what it was. He took off the stopper and sniffed it. Ugh. It smelled of flowers and dead fish.

"It's just powdered silverside," Marcus said. "There's purple mountain flower in there too. The quartermaster said it would help with the cold. It's all I could get - healing potions all go to our wounded."

Alexis downed the potion and washed the taste away with water from the jug on the nightstand. The worst of the bone-chilling cold began to recede. He wasn't warm, exactly, but now at least the bearskin around his shoulders and the flickering heat from the fire had some effect. He could begin to thaw.

"Give me your hands," Marcus said, and Alexis obeyed. The skin under the Silencing cuffs was burned, red and raw. From the basket Marcus took out two clean, rolled strips of gauze. 

Alexis watched Marcus' young face, frowning in concentration, as he moved the cuffs up Alexis' wrists enough to gently bandage the burns. "I don't know if this will help," the Legionnaire said. "Thought I'd try, anyway." He finished his work, then pulled the Silencing cuffs back down so that they rested over the bandages, instead of bare skin. Alexis flexed his hands. It certainly felt better; not as raw.

"You could thank me," Marcus said. Alexis raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you," he said drily. "How considerate." He was feeling stronger, from the food and the potion. There was another effect in it, besides resistance to the cold; he didn't feel quite so exhausted. "Were you planning to rape me? I'll thank you again if you get it over with."

"I don't want to hurt you," Marcus said, sounding a little defensive. "And you didn't seem to mind it with Legate Gravius and Darius. I saw you finish." The Legionnaire turned red as Alexis looked at him. "Twice."

"So I did," Alexis said with a sigh. He'd never forgive himself for it. "But that's different from not minding," Alexis told him. "So - what do you want me to do?"

Marcus didn't answer, flushing a deeper red. 

"Darius said you'd never had a prisoner," Alexis said softly. "But what about others? Back in... Kvatch, isn't it?"

"How did you -"

"I'm Cyrodiilic too, remember? I can pick a Western accent. Weren't there any pretty Kvatch girls or boys to take your fancy back home?"

Marcus shook his head. "Girls don't take my fancy. And you can stop hedging around it."

"Ah. Then Darius was wrong about you. You didn't hesitate because you'd rather have a girl; you hesitated because you've got absolutely no idea how to go about it." He smirked. "You're a virgin."

"If you tell Darius," Marcus warned, his eyes suddenly hard.

"Mara and Dibella, why would I tell him?" Alexis said. He had to laugh. " _How_ would I tell him? 'Excuse me, Darius, but would you hold off knocking my teeth out or bending me over that barrell, as I've got something very important to tell you. Marcus Whatshisnamius is a virgin.'"

"Enough cheek from you," Marcus said, taking Alexis by his wrists and giving him a shake. The chain rattled, as though reminding Alexis of his place. "I told you I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I need to. If I beat you bloody, do you know what will happen?"

"Absolutely nothing," Alexis said. "But you think on that, too. After tonight..." He shrugged, feigning indifference. "What else could you do to me?"

"Just - just show me what to do," Marcus said, drawing a breath. He seemed almost nervous. The whole situation was absurd.

Alexis shook his head in disbelief. "So it's more shameful to be a virgin than a rapist," he said. "And people keep asking why life in the Legion never appealed to me. Why I rejected the proud culture of my esteemed homeland." 

"Watch yourself, traitor," Marcus growled, flexing a fist.

To distract the Legionnaire, Alexis rested his hands on Marcus' hips, feeling strong bone beneath the weight of his tunic. "Shh. Come here," he murmured, pulling the young Legionnaire against him and feeling the man's erection rub up against his belly. "You are a tall one," he said. He reached up to cup Marcus' clean-shaven face in his hands, his hands heavy with their cuffs and chain. "Here." He guided Marcus to bend his head into a kiss.

It was a rather chaste, closed-lipped kiss, at first, until Marcus' breath came faster, causing his lips to part. 

"That's good," Alexis whispered. "Open your mouth." When the Legionnaire did so, Alexis slipped the tip of his tongue inside. Alexis pulled him closer, and began to let his hands roam. His deft, light fingers unbuckled straps and fasteners from the boy's tunic. Alexis felt for weapons, lockpicks, a key, anything, as he explored. 

"You won't find anything," Marcus whispered into his mouth.

"Can't blame me for trying," Alexis shrugged, and Marcus shrugged back.

"I don't."

Their noses bumped as they laughed together, and their eyes met for a moment. Two young men, an inkling of understanding, if not liking, building between them. 

When he had undone all its straps and buckles, Alexis lifted Marcus' heavy tunic and helped him take it off, marvelling at its sheer weight. Although Marcus wasn't yet completely filled out, his broad shoulders and strong frame allowed him to wear this seemingly colossal structure. Alexis could never hope to wear such a load into battle. His arms shook as he lowered the armored tunic to the floor, reminding him how weakened he was. 

Now Marcus stood in his smallclothes - a breechclout and a cotton undershirt that stopped his armor from chafing. Marcus flushed deeper, self-conscious without his armor. He was good-looking, thought Alexis; but everyone looked slightly silly in their smallclothes. 

"Take these off," Alexis said, tugging at the undershirt. For his own part, he stripped off the clean cotton shirt and linen trousers he'd been given to wear. 

"Much better," Alexis said softly, looking Marcus up and down, at thighs as hard as sculpted stone, shoulders and arms smooth like new rope, the flat, lean muscle of his chest and belly. All the puppy-fat of youth had been stripped away by hard training. The hair on his chest was so fair and fine that his body looked as smooth as marble. And, of course, his smooth, hard shaft, rising as proud as a mast from a curl of light brown hair. 

"You're a handsome boy," Alexis said, meaning it, and catching his breath. Marcus didn't have Legate Gravius' silver-flecked dark hair and stern mouth, or Darius' rough face and hard smiling eyes, but he was undeniably beautiful. 

"Some day, maybe you'll even stop blushing," Alexis said, with a smile, running a hand through the boy's short, light-brown hair. "Though I can't say it isn't fetching." The fair skin of Marcus' smooth cheeks was tinged with red, making the freckles stand out across the bridge of his nose. 

He realised that Marcus was staring back at him, and smirked. Alexis wasn't particularly tall, or broad; and his body was more wiry than powerful. Training with the Stormcloaks had put some hard, rangy muscle on his limbs, stripped away the remnants of a sellsword's lifestyle of too much mead, and intermittent work. But he'd never have the deep barrel chest of someone like Gravius, or the sheer muscular power of Marcus. 

None of that had bothered anyone Alexis had been with, man or woman; and there had been many. He was good-looking enough, he'd always thought, with dark olive skin, almost-black eyes and black hair that tangled and nearly reached his shoulders. He trimmed the hair on his face, when he had the chance, but never bothered with a close shave; like many Imperials, a shadow of dark stubble would emerge no matter what he did. 

Now, as he stood naked in front of the fire, Marcus stared, looking him up and down in scandalized fascination. "You're not like a soldier," he said huskily. 

Alexis shrugged. "There's different kinds of soldiers," he said, and then felt himself close in. Stormcloaks valued stealth, and speed, and daring. Their camps in the hills could ambush a whole company of Imperials with small numbers. At least, they could when things didn't go horribly, horribly wrong.

Marcus traced a fingertip over the bruised mess of Alexis' ribs. "I'm sorry for this," he said softly, and again, Alexis shrugged.

"What - what now?" Marcus said. Alexis took his hands and squeezed, pulling him towards the mattress. He ran his palms up over the Legionnaire's long arms, the chain between his wrists restraining him from looping his arms around the boy, as he wanted to do. There were worse men to be taken by, he thought.

He lay back on the straw mattress, knees bent and legs spread, giving Marcus full view of him, and of his cock. His erection was rising inevitably yet again, as he kissed Marcus, and felt his smooth, strong body. The chain between his wrists clinked as he gave himself a few strokes, pulling himself closer to full erection.

"Now you do whatever you want," he murmured, as Marcus knelt on the bed beside him. Alexis pulled him down for another kiss. "I can't stop you." 

"I don't know - how do I know what I want?" Marcus whispered. "I don't know any of this."

Alexis knelt, feeling springy straw under his bruised knees. It was better than stone floor, at least.

He reached for Marcus' heavy cock, feeling the smooth weight of it, hot in his hands. "Let me, then," he said, and licking his lips he shut his eyes and took Marcus into his mouth. 

Marcus gasped at the feeling of Alexis' lips and tongue on the sensitive head of his cock. Alexis held his hips, awkward with the chain between his wrists. It was slower, with Marcus. At first, that is. While Gravius and Darius had fucked him hard, bucking into his mouth, almost forcing themselves down his throat, Marcus was almost still. His eyes were shut, and he moaned with every stroke of Alexis' tongue. But when Alexis sucked hard, murmuring his own appreciation of the Legionnaire's smooth shaft, drawing him deep, it was too much for Marcus. In moments he was gasping and shuddering, his hips shaking, emptying spurt after spurt of thick seed in Alexis' mouth. Then he clutched Alexis' hair and pulled out, gasping, his cock sensitised, every nerve on fire.

Alexis grinned, licking his lips. "That good, hm?" He kissed the Legionnaire again, pushing his tongue deep and spilling Marcus' own seed into his mouth.

"What -" he gasped, pushing Alexis away. For a second Alexis half thought Marcus would strike him, but the moment passed as quickly as it had come. "What did you do that for?" 

"You taste good," Alexis said, shrugging. "I wanted you to know." He wiped his mouth and grinned.

Marcus flopped onto his back, recovering. "How do men like Darius last so long?" he asked, when he'd got most of his breath back.

"Age. Practice." Alexis shrugged. "Some combination of the two. You'll be ready in a few minutes. We'll try again."

They did. 

The next time took longer, especially as Alexis held the base of the young Legionnaire's cock, exerting gentle pressure on his balls. He sucked until his jaw ached and his tongue grew tired, finally releasing Marcus' balls to let him come, relishing the fresh taste of seed and the Legionnaire's low groans of pleasure.

They kissed again, when Alexis had rinsed his mouth with water, then lay in each other's arms, a wolf pelt over them to ease the chill of cooling sweat. The chain between Alexis' wrists rested on Marcus' chest, warm from their bodies.

"You're skilled," Marcus said, running a hand through his hair.

Alexis nodded. "A talent, I suppose." He found Marcus' cock and stroked it idly, using his fingers to knead and pull, feeling it harden again under his hand.

"Look in the basket again," Marcus whispered when Alexis had coaxed him back to erection, his voice a hoarse, commanding rasp. 

Alexis found a small, nondescript packet, wrapped in linen. He unwrapped it, discovering a little pot of tallow. _Thank the Divines,_ he thought silently, _for sparing me another dry fuck._

"Who's it for?" Alexis asked with a smirk, and was rewarded with a dark glare from Marcus.

"How do you know you wouldn't enjoy it?"

Marcus took the tallow from him, caught his wrists, flipped him onto his back. 

"I know."

He took Alexis' chain and used it to force his arms over his head, then stared into the Stormcloak's weary, dark eyes. "Keep your hands there," he said, and Alexis nodded, his breath coming quicker. There was something in him, he knew - something that craved this. Something that needed to be pinned and fucked, to be chained and restrained and taken. 

"Spread your legs," Marcus ordered. His eyes were bright with a confidence born of long-denied need as he knelt between Alexis' thighs. Alexis arched his back, spreading his legs wider, feeling the cheeks of his ass separate, exposing his tender hole to cool air. He looked at Marcus through half-lidded eyes.

As Marcus dipped his fingers into the tallow and smeared the slippery stuff over his cock, Alexis noticed the scent of crushed wheat and blue mountain flower. He gave a long, grateful moan at the thought of the soothing properties of that mix. 

"Let me," Alexis whispered. He dipped into the tallow, then slicked Marcus' index and middle fingers, and guided them to his ass. He arched and moaned as Marcus pushed his fingers gently inside him. There was pain, at first, but soon he felt his abused hole begin to tingle pleasantly, and the pain receded. 

" _Ohh,_ " he said, feeling the tip of his cock trickle wet with readiness. 

"Hands," Marcus commanded, and Alexis raised them over his head again. With the chain between them, he could imagine that he was bound like this.

Marcus pushed his thighs apart and the blunt head of his cock was snug against Alexis' lightly tingling ass. Seeing the Stormcloak arching to him in need, moving his hips to urge him to take him, he smirked and rubbed his opening, smearing tallow and moisture. 

"Yes," Alexis gasped. "Please."

But Marcus was not ready to accede. He moved his cock, rubbing the Stormcloak's sensitive opening, teasing him. Marcus had climaxed twice already, and he was in no hurry. He relished the sight of the Stormcloak beneath him, helpless, obedient, as he slid his cock between Alexis' slicked ass cheeks.

"Are you ready to be fucked?" Marcus whispered.

" _Gods,_ yes," Alexis pleaded. " _Please_ , Marcus."

"What will you do to prove it?"

"I - please, just take me," he whispered.

"Beg me, Stormcloak," Marcus said, his eyes narrowing, mouth curled in a smile Alexis had not seen on his youthful face before.

"Please take me," Alexis gasped. "Please, I know I'm not worthy..." He pleaded and begged, abasing himself completely before his young enemy, as Marcus probed his quivering opening with the shining head of his cock. He closed his eyes and writhed, pulling at the chain between his wrists, squirming and moving his hips, trying to force the Legionnaire's hard cock inside him.

And finally, watching the Stormcloak sweat and writhe beneath him, Marcus could stand it no longer. He eased himself forward slowly, stretching Alexis open. The Stormcloak flexed around him with a cry of pleasure, accepting Marcus' hard breadth as the Legionnaire rocked into him, claiming him, sinking in deep and slow. 

He was inside the body of another for the first time. It was beyond pleasure, better than taking Alexis' mouth, skilled though he was; better than watching Darius have him; better than anything. The slippery tallow eased his way, and without meaning to he slammed in hard, drawing a cry of delighted pain from Alexis. The Stormcloak's eyes were tightly shut. He looped his legs around Marcus to pull him in, deeper, harder.

In that moment, Alexis could almost forget that they were enemies, that he was being taken without any say in the matter. Marcus' sweet groans, of amazement, disbelief, ecstasy; a boy taking his pleasure inside another man for the first time. He lifted his arms, then, knowing that Marcus would not mind, looping them with their connecting chain around the boy's back and pulling him to his chest so that they were clinging tightly together. 

Marcus' mouth was at his throat, crying out, and Alexis knew that his climax was upon him, his body shaking and shaking, arms around him so tightly. They were enemies, Marcus was taking him, forcing him, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered. Alexis lost himself in pure pleasure as hot come filled his ass to mingle with sweetly-tingling tallow.

Marcus' heavy weight was atop him, the young Legionnaire still moaning in the aftershocks of his pleasure, as exhaustion finally claimed Alexis and he spiralled into sleep.


	7. Shame

Alexis wound the handle of the well with both hands. The bucket was heavy, and although his body was adjusting to its lack of magicka, he was nowhere near his former strength. 

Near-icy water sloshed down the front of his shirt as he lifted the bucket down from its hook, arms shaking, and paused to catch his breath in the cold morning sun. 

It was weeks since the rout in which Legate Gravius had defeated Ralof of Riverwood. Fort Neugrad almost looked like a normal, bustling town, Alexis thought, except for the heavily-armored guards at the gate, and the archers lining the walls. Once the dust had settled and it was clear that the fighting was over, people had begun to arrive seeking food and work and trade. They were mostly Nords; some were from the surrounding villages, others refugees from Helgen. 

Alexis had not been returned to the dungeons, after proving so entertaining to Legate Gravius and his two favoured men. The Legate seemed to have decided that with his comrades held in the dungeon as a kind of insurance, the Dragonborn was no threat. Instead, he had been sent into the keep and put to work. 

Alexis was glad to have something to keep him occupied, but the thought of his comrades held in the darkened cells of the fort's prison gave him no comfort.

As Alexis was rolling up his sleeves, ready to pick up the heavy bucket, a skinny, silent Nord boy of about twelve got there first. Alexis had seen this boy around the keep for a week or so. He was fair-haired and freckled, already nearly as tall as Alexis, hands and feet too big for his body and nose too big for his face.

The Nord boy handed Alexis an empty bucket to replace the full one, and lifted the load of water with his scrawny frame. He was stronger than he looked. 

"Take it to the kitchens," Alexis told him, and the boy nodded and hurried off, lopsided with his heavy load of water.

"Don't spill it," Alexis called after him, and the boy's steps became more careful.

Alexis shrugged to himself, and hooked the empty bucket onto the end of the rope, letting the bucket's own weight lower it down into the well. The handle spun slowly as the rope and bucket descended, and Alexis watched it, resting and letting his mind wander.

It was rare for someone to help Alexis without being ordered to. The folk around Fort Neugrad knew who he was. They had heard the rumors - the legendary Dragonborn, the strange "Imperial Stormcloak", had been brought to heel. It turned out this so-called hero from the ancient stories was nothing special after all. In fact, he wore a collar around his throat and cuffs on his wrists, and he fetched and carried for the Legionnaires. 

Fort Neugrad had begun to seem safe and peaceful to its new residents. Yams, cabbages and carrots grew in a section of freshly-dug soil. The stables were tended and the horses fed. A new well had been dug. There was a forge, and a smithy alongside it. Fish and crab meat came from the small lake to the east, and bread from a miller a short carriage ride away. Merchants and tradesfolk came through and stayed as long as they had wares to sell and skills in demand. A small ring of huts had begun to form around the fortress walls.

At first Alexis had hated these men and women, seeing them as collaborators with Imperial occupation. But many of them had lost their homes in Helgen, and fearful of the threat of dragons, sought the only protection and stability they could find. Most probably didn't care about the civil war; all they wanted was shelter and a place for their children to get a decent meal and a roof over their heads. 

A cuff to the side of his head startled Alexis out of his thoughts; a passing guard had seen him idle. "Stop lollygagging and get back to work," the guard said. He leaned in close to Alexis' ear, draping an arm over the prisoner's shoulders. "Unless you want me to take you behind the mess hall and stick my cock down your throat," he whispered. 

Alexis lowered his head, looking at the ground. He fought the urge to shove the guard away. "No, sir," he said, feeling his face grow hot. It seemed that his deeper shame was common knowledge, too. He reminded himself that he could hardly accuse anyone else of being a collaborator, considering what he did with Gravius and his bodyguards, most nights. 

The guard left him, smirking, and Alexis attended to his work, burning with anger. He filled the bucket, then hauled it up with renewed energy born of rage. He would be glad if a dragon came to Fort Neugrad to raze the place to the ground. The dungeons might even escape the flames. 

It was an idea that recurred to him in moments like these. If a dragon could somehow be drawn to Alexis, like at Helgen, perhaps he could escape in the chaos. A dragon might even force the Legionnaires to unleash him in order to slay it, and afterwards... 

The gangling Nord boy reappeared, just as Alexis had drawn the filled bucket high enough to reach. The boy looked at Alexis with unreadable blue eyes, and they lifted the bucket down together. 

_No_ , Alexis thought, looking at the boy. _No more innocent deaths_. No matter how desperate his personal situation, he couldn't have that on his conscience. Right now, all he could do was endure, and pray to Talos that Ralof was alive and planning a raid to free them.

***

Night fell over Falkreath Hold, and Alexis came in to the kitchens to get his nightly meal. The tall, silent Nord boy followed him, a few paces behind, seemingly oblivious to the muttered comments and looks from the other Fort Neugrad servants.

The boy had joined Alexis in his work all through the afternoon. When Alexis hoed the soil in the vegetable patches, the boy pulled weeds. When Alexis mucked out the stables, the boy fetched clean straw. When Alexis split logs, the boy collected the wood and bundled it neatly to be taken off to the kitchens and the officers' chambers. 

Alexis had no idea where the Nord child had come from, but he welcomed the company, even though the boy never smiled or spoke. He was quick, and silent, and tireless. A little clumsy sometimes, but that was to be expected at his age. He was intelligent, too; he could see what needed to be done and would do it without being told. He would always do a task thoroughly, without taking shortcuts, no matter how tedious or unpleasant it was. 

But after a full day of his presence, Alexis began to worry. It was no good to the child to be associated with a prisoner of war - and a traitor, at that. He would have to dispense with this boy before someone noticed. 

Alexis sat down in the big hall that had been set up to feed the servants, and those commoners who were still homeless, deliberately choosing a seat between two big day labourers so that the Nord boy could not join him. His meal of bread and stew disappeared quickly. He could have done with another helping, but didn't like his chances of getting one. 

He had to admit that Legate Gravius had done well by the local people of the Hold. Refugees from Helgen had work and food; a quick way to gain loyalty from frightened people. Alexis doubted the Stormcloaks would have had the resources to pull it off. 

He wiped his bowl with the remains of his bread, wondering what the evening would bring. Most nights, Alexis was summoned to the officers' chambers. Usually it was Legate Gravius, who of course, had priority over his two favored men - his bodyguards Darius and Marcus. 

Sure enough, he soon felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Viera, the practical, hard-faced maid who had ordered him to prepare for Marcus that first night. She had always been cool towards him, but Alexis had begun to sense that she pitied him. 

"The Legate sent for you," Viera said.

Alexis nodded without expression, standing up with his bowl. "Now?"

"Yes. You're to wash, then go to his chambers. I'll take that." She took his bowl. "Be quick." 

Her voice had a warning tone that indicated that the Legate was not in a patient mood. Alexis hurried to wash up and change his work clothes, his stomach churning a little. He never could tell whether it was dread, or anticipation, or both. 

Depending on the Legate's mood Alexis could expect anything from a quick, hard fuck on his hands and knees, to a slow night spent using his mouth and hands with all the skill he had. Gravius was not exactly gentle, but he wasn't cruel like Darius. So long as Alexis was obedient and attentive, the Legate did not beat him. 

Soon Alexis was washed and dried, wearing a clean shirt and trousers and smelling of soap, knocking on the heavy door to the Legate's rooms. 

***

"And where have you been?" Legate Gravius demanded, as Alexis padded into the warm interior of his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

The Legate wore wool trousers and a soft, fine linen shirt. Alexis never quite got used to seeing him like this, out of uniform. His broad shoulders and barrel chest were just as impressive without his heavy plate armor; possibly more so. 

"I'm so sorry I kept you waiting, sir," Alexis murmured, slipping his arms around the Legate, meeting his grey eyes for a brief moment before reaching behind his head to draw him into a kiss. It was always easier if Alexis began things. It was going to happen, whether he wanted it or not; so why make it worse than it had to be?

"Hmph. You had better be." Gravius opened his mouth to Alexis' cautious lips. Alexis closed his eyes, feeling stubble against his face, then the rough thrust of the Legate's tongue. Inevitably, Alexis felt desire building inside him as they kissed. 

"Let me make it up to you, Legate Gravius," Alexis whispered between kisses, and the Legate grunted his approval. A hand moved to Alexis' head, pushing him to his knees.

With deft hands, Alexis undid the Legate's trousers and freed the man's cock. Gravius was still soft, and Alexis hid his surprise - most nights, the Legate was hard already. Never mind. Alexis would soon fix that. 

He took the Legate's member in gentle hands and drew his parted lips along its length from base to tip, kissing as he went. Alexis licked his lips, kissed the smooth, dry head, then opened his mouth over it, sucking to pull the man's cock into his mouth.

The Legate's hand curled in his hair, and Alexis felt the man's hips thrust forward. He tasted the sweet, familiar salt of the Legate's skin, breathed in his sex-scent, and gave a soft moan. 

After minutes sliding his cock in Alexis' skilled mouth, Gravius had both hands on the prisoner's head, and was groaning half in pleasure and half in frustration. He was a little harder; but still not hard enough to take Alexis. Alexis sensed his irritation and stood up slowly, still cupping and stroking the Legate's cock with one hand.

"You must be tense, sir," Alexis whispered, kissing Gravius' mouth with lips that still burned from their task. "Why not lie down and let me help?"

To Alexis' relief, Gravius conceded to the suggestion. He was angered, though, perhaps even embarrassed. Alexis knew he would have to tread carefully to avoid triggering his temper. He helped the man undress, then took off his own shirt and trousers as Gravius stretched out with a sigh, face-down on his bed.

The Legate's chambers had become well-appointed over the weeks, as goods came in gradually. The rooms were now comfortable - there were woven rugs as well as hides, warm-hued lanterns, candles, and other furnishings. The walls were hung with rich banners displaying the Imperial sigil - the stylized dragon that Alexis found vaguely ironic. A fire blazed in the fireplace, warm enough to ward off the chill even from Alexis.

Naked, Alexis folded their clothes and draped them over an armchair. In the drawers beside the bed he found the scented oil the Legate liked to use. The smell went straight to his head, making him think of the deep, slow pleasure-pain of the Legate inside him. With that scent, and the sight of the Legate's hard, muscled body sprawled on the bed, Alexis felt his erection build. 

He knelt on the bed, drizzled oil between Gravius' shoulders and began to knead, gently at first, feeling for knots of tension. 

He found them, and used his skilled fingers with firmer pressure to ease the tension. Gravius sighed deeply as he worked, and Alexis murmured in sympathy. "Does something trouble you, Legate Gravius?" he asked quietly, running oiled fingers down the Legate's smooth, muscled back.

"Mm," the Legate grunted into the furs strewn over his bed. "Nothing that's your business."

"Of course, sir," Alexis said, pushing his thumbs slowly down along either side of the man's spine until he reached his lower back. "My apologies." Truthfully, he hadn't expected an answer.

The Legate was breathing more easily by the second, relaxing into Alexis' touch. His back glowed with oil and his skin was tinged with red, warmed by the heat of the fire and Alexis' firm hands. 

It was an enticing sight. Alexis bent to kiss the back of his neck, lips touching the short hairs at the base of the Legate's skull. Gravius moaned as Alexis kissed between his shoulder blades, then the small of his back, and even the hollow at the base of his spine. His heart pounded a little faster, and he wondered exactly what he could get away with. He trailed his fingers over the Legate's muscled ass and the backs of his thighs, then left a kiss where the hard buttocks met at their most rounded swell, following with the briefest intrusion of his oiled fingertip between the Legate's cheeks. 

With that, Gravius rolled to his side, his thick body twisting as quickly as a snake, and seized Alexis by one wrist. Alexis gasped in surprise, yielding at once as the Legate threw him onto his back on the bed. 

Eyes calmly open, Alexis steeled himself for a beating - but mixed with the anger on the Legate's face was a thrill of arousal. Alexis saw that he was hard, now - his cock upright and full. But whether the Legate's erection was from Alexis' slow massage, or from the touch between the cheeks of his ass, Alexis couldn't tell. 

"I'm sorry, sir," he whispered. "I thought I could please you."

"Oh, you will please me," Gravius said, eyes narrowing in a cold smile. He caught Alexis by his hair and thrust his erect cock into his mouth. 

Alexis gave a choked moan. He was willing, the Legate knew he was. He wouldn't fight. He didn't need to be held and forced like that. But Gravius' strong fingers threaded through his hair, pulling hard, holding his head still. The Legate fucked his mouth, his thrusts so deep that Alexis found he couldn't breathe. 

Gravius took him slowly, but he was rough - almost as rough as that first time in the dungeon. Breathless, head spinning, Alexis was gripped with terror. He heard himself making soft, pained moans, every time the head of Gravius' broad cock hit the back of his throat. 

He willed the Legate to spill his seed, to get it over with, but soon realised that Gravius was grunting in frustration, unable to climax. 

"Come _on_ , Stormcloak," he growled, and Alexis realised suddenly what he needed. 

He slid an oiled finger behind the Legate's balls, stroking gently back along that sensitive place until he reached the tiny, puckered opening. The Legate groaned, deep in his chest. It only took a soft press of Alexis' fingertip, barely past the tight rim of Gravius' ass, to have him bucking into his mouth, coming suddenly, throwing his head back with a strained cry. 

"Eight Divines," Gravius gasped, falling back on his bed afterwards. Alexis swallowed and wiped his mouth, fighting for composure, watching him recover. 

He looked oddly handsome like that - eyes shut, the hard lines of his face in an expression of amazement and pleasure instead of the usual contemptuous glare Alexis had from him. 

Then the Legate turned his head, flinty eyes opening a crack. "You're lucky," he said, still breathless. "Darius would have thrashed you for that."

Alexis nodded. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "I was presumptuous."

The Legate grunted and rolled to his side. Soon he was snoring lightly, not even bothering to have Alexis taken from his chambers. 

Alexis breathed a deep sigh of relief, and lay back next to him. Only when he found that he was shaking all over did he realise how close he'd been to panic. 

He lay back while chills passed over his body. As the shakes subsided, Alexis' eyes fell on the weapons displayed on racks in the Legate's chambers. 

There was a heavy Daedric batteaxe in pride of place over the fireplace. It was a cruel, double-bladed thing, its dark, honed edges spiked for tearing flesh. On the opposite wall, two beautiful ebony daggers crossed over each other against a red velvet background. They looked just the right weight for Alexis. He stood, and carefully lifted a dagger from its mounting. He only needed one.

The edge was perfect, he thought, running his thumb over it very delicately, seeing the top layer of skin finely cut. A hair's width, not deep enough to draw blood. A fraction more pressure and he would cut himself to the bone.

It didn't really matter, though, how sharp it was. A blade was a blade. 

He turned to look at the sleeping Legate Gravius, feeling numb. Could he do it? He knew he was a coward - what other explanation could there be for his utter lack of resistance? Killing a man in his sleep should be easy for a coward. 

But it wasn't.

Gravius turned in his sleep with a sigh, his bare back still shining with oil in the firelight, the strong line of his jaw catching the glow too. Alexis smelled the scented oil, warmed from his skin, and remembered the feeling of strong arms around him in the night. Silently, he replaced the dagger and climbed back into bed. 


	8. Morning

The morning was cold after the fire had died. Before the sun rose, Alexis woke, naked with Gravius' solid heat at his back. He had a dim memory of stirring during the night, edging closer to Gravius, seeking warmth, and of the Legate wrapping hard arms around him and pulling him close.

He lay still, enjoying a moment's peace in the gray pre-dawn, willing the Legate to sleep a little longer. He hadn't come the night before and he was hard; he stroked himself idly. Memories filtered back - of the Legate, holding his hair to force him; of himself, lifting the ebony dagger from its housing.

A sigh behind him, into his hair, as the Legate woke. Then a hand ran down his body, still heavy with sleep. Over his chest, fingers brushing a nipple on their way down, then his navel. The Legate found Alexis' hand on his cock and, with an amused grunt, pushed it away. 

A nudge on Alexis' back bade him roll to his front, and he obeyed, spreading his legs for the Legate to kneel between them as he liked to do. Alexis felt his hips pulled up, then cool air touched his delicate opening as the cheeks of his ass parted. He heard rustling followed by the soft, high _pop_ of a cork from a tiny bottle. The scent of oil filtered through the morning smells of cold air, woodsmoke and baking bread. 

He cried out softly as Gravius penetrated him, sinking in deep, and schooled his body to relax and accept it. The Legate's body folded over his, heavy and slow, still sleepy. Gravius' mouth brushed his ear, teeth taking the rim in a soft, possessive nibble. He seemed to have no problems maintaining his erection this morning, Alexis thought. 

They moaned together with each thrust, Gravius' hips pumping harder, faster. Mercifully, Gravius curled a hand, still slick with oil, under Alexis' shaft to pull him to climax. That slippery, calloused hand, the heat of the muscled chest against his back and the slap of the Legate's hips against his ass - _Gods - Talos_ \- he was coming. Alexis peaked before the Legate, calling out his name as he spilled into his hand. All pain was forgotten as the Legate clutched him tightly with a groan and came straight after, warm, sputtering jets of come filling his ass.

They fell together, Alexis winded from pleasure and the weight of the Legate's body. All he wanted was to doze, perhaps sleep again with Gravius inside him, in a heavy pile of heat and spent sex. But the Legate, once he had caught his breath, withdrew and stood up. 

"Ow," Alexis complained as the Legate pulled his broad cock out, fast enough to hurt. His back and ass felt suddenly cold. 

Gravius gave his ass a sharp spank, wet from oil and seed; hard enough to warn him for this impertinence, but not hard enough to punish. "Up you get," Gravius said. "I have business."

***

The sun was glinting low in the east, and the work day was in full swing by the time Alexis made it to the kitchens for his bread. 

As he hurried to the stables to begin his jobs, a red head bobbed beside him, jogging to keep up. It was the Nord child from yesterday. 

"Talos' sake," Alexis muttered, pulling the boy into the relative privacy of a small storeroom. The skinny young Nord stared at him with sullen blue eyes. "Listen," Alexis said. "You're a good worker. Any other situation, I'd be glad to have you. But you know who I am. If the Legionnaires see you with me all the time, they'll ask questions, and you won't like the way they go about it. So for your own good, clear off and find someone else to hang around."

Alexis had expected him to nod and run off, silent and practical as always. But instead the boy froze, looking at the hay-strewn dirt floor, his freckled face turning grey with despair. He tried to stop himself from breaking into tears, but his young face crumpled helplessly and he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. 

"Mara and Dibella!" Alexis looked around to make sure nobody else could see before wrapping an arm around the boy's bony shoulders. "Come on then. What is it you want?"

The boy looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "My sister," he said.


	9. Konur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A porn-free chapter about that weird Nord kid that was following Alexis around.

Konur Iron-Hilt had gone to Windhelm first.

The news of the Stormcloak defeat east of Helgen had reached the Iron-Hilt farm in the early hours one Morndas. 

Konur's father had set off before dawn for Whiterun to trade, and his mother had been working the mill. Konur, who had been in the kitchen kneading dough, wiped the bread flour from his hands and went to the door. When he'd seen not an ordinary courier, but one in Stormcloak blue, his eyes had widened. They had fairly bulged out of his head when he'd seen the personal seal of the letter's author - dark blue wax, imprinted with a bear's head. The sender was Ulfric Stormcloak himself.

Konur took the letter from the courier. The envelope said "Iron-Hilt", nothing more. Well, Konur was an Iron-Hilt - so he broke the seal himself and opened the letter so quickly he nearly tore it.

 _It is my painful duty to inform you of the setback of our forces in Falkreath Hold,_ began the letter. Konur felt his stomach freeze with dread. 

_... I understand that your daughter Eygret, a fine soldier and a woman of untarnished courage, was among the company in the valley south of Orphan Rock, east of Helgen, where our camp was ambushed._

_Eygret's body was not among those recovered. However, we have no reports of any survivors. May Talos keep you, and may He guide your daughter, whether safely back to her family and comrades, or to her deserved glory in Sovngarde..._

There was more after that - standard stuff thanking the Iron-Hilts for their sacrifice and loyalty, and praising them as true Nords. Even though he knew Ulfric hadn't written it himself, that some secretary had penned it for him, Konur knew what an honour it was to receive such a thing. He should be awed, but all he felt was angry. His sister was missing. Nobody knew if she was alive or dead, but there was nothing in the letter about trying to find her, or sending search parties or rescue missions.

Konur didn't cry. He'd thought he would, if news like that came. Eygret was seven years older than he was, and had helped raise him. He'd cried - only alone, in his bed, but he had cried - when she had left to join Ulfric's forces. He had no other siblings, and the farm was lonely and the work hard without her around. 

But after he'd read Ulfric's letter, Konur's eyes were dry. He had intended to join the Stormcloaks, as soon as he was old enough; this turn of events simply sped things up. He ran away to Windhelm that very night. 

He took a small pack with bread and cheese and a few essentials; his bow; and his hunting knife. He looked back at the small farmhouse and saw the fateful envelope on the workbench, its blue wax seal distorted and pulled into two, but still clearly in the shape of a bear's head. He put the seal in his pocket, crept outside and closed the door.

Iron-Hilt Farm was northeast of Whiterun, and Konur had grown up seeing Dragonsreach high over the city walls every day of his life, knowing that from there, Jarl Balgruuf protected the people of his Hold. When Konur crossed the river he lost sight of the high, ridged towers soon after, and suppressed a churn of fear. 

The journey was dangerous, but Konur was resourceful. He found that if he simply turned up somewhere and started working, most adults never noticed him. They certainly didn't send him away. He made his way in comparative safety along the roads with merchant caravans that way. Usually he'd at least get a meal at the end of the day, and sometimes a few coins, especially when the men were drinking. 

He had expected the seat of the High King to be magnificent, but Windhelm was cold and forbidding. Everything seemed gray - the sky, the buildings, the roads, the water in the harbour. The streets were fraught with a tension Konur did not understand. He had never seen so many Dunmer in one place. He sensed danger in the way the Nords of Windhelm spoke of the dark-skinned elves, and kept his head down, avoiding trouble. A fight seemed to be brewing on every street corner. 

Konur found work quickly. He was quick and hard-working, and being young enough to be paid next to nothing, he was also cheap labour. He fetched and carried, swept floors, mucked out stables. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. The blue bear's head seal stayed in his pocket, softening from his body heat. By the time he had worked his way into the kitchens at the Palace of the Kings, the seal was an amorphous blue blob. He kept it anyway.

Listening well, he found that those who wanted to join the Stormcloaks spoke to Ulfric's housecarl and general, Galmar Stone-Fist. Galmar was an imposing man with a bear's-head helmet and a knotted, grey-streaked beard. He looked as though he was part bear himself, his craggy, weathered face set in a permanent snarl. 

Approaching Galmar was the most terrifying moment of Konur's life. One day after the midday meal had been served and the kitchen scrubbed, Konur looked into the war room, his heart thudding. He saw maps and charts spread out on their workbenches, and Galmar Stone-Fist, hulking over them like a giant, frowning as though he could destroy the Imperials' forces by burning them from the map with his eyes. 

"Excuse me, sir," he'd said. Galmar didn't respond, and Konur tried again. "Sir -"

"Out with it, boy," Galmar snarled, without looking up from the map.

"I want to join the Stormcloaks," Konur said, trying to make his voice low and strong like a man's, but feeling it break at the worst possible moment. 

The Stormcloak general looked Konur up and down in terrifying silence. Galmar's cold blue gaze fixed on Konur's eyes, and Konur forced himself not to look away. 

"Give this a swing," Galmar said eventually, taking a steel warhammer from its stand in the corner of the room. 

He handed the warhammer to Konur. The weapon hit the stone floor with an echoing _clang_ , nearly pulling Konur's thin shoulders from their sockets. Konur strained to lift it, got it an inch off the ground, his arms shaking under the load.

Arms folded across his broad chest, Galmar Stone-Fist watched. Finally, Konur had to let the heavy haft drop, moving his feet quickly out of its way before it _clanged_ again onto the floor. 

Galmar didn't laugh. "Come back in a few years, boy," he said. "By then Ulfric will hold all of Skyrim, and we'll be up against the Aldmeri Dominion, not the Empire. But there'll be plenty of fighting to do. Go home and put some meat on those scrawny arms."

Konur was silent, staring at Galmar's bear-helmed face, frozen with despair. He couldn't let it go. His own sister was lost. He had to find her. Surely Galmar would understand that. He didn't have to wield a warhammer - he was good enough with a knife, better with a bow. 

"But, sir -"

"I said, go home." Galmar Stone-Fist was unused to being contradicted, especially by a skinny, pale-faced twelve-year-old. "Ulfric Stormcloak doesn't have child soldiers. If you want to help your homeland, you'll go back to your farm and work. Where do you think our rations come from?" He nodded to the door. "Out. Come back when you can lift a damned weapon."

 _I **can** lift a damned weapon,_ Konur thought furiously, his hand white-knuckled on the hilt of his hunting knife. Eygret used a pair of war-axes. He'd never seen her try to wield a warhammer or a greatsword, and the Stormcloaks had taken _her_. Lots of soldiers used lighter weapons - what did it matter?

Konur walked from the Palace of Kings with his head as high as he could carry it, holding tears back until he got out into the freezing wind and there was enough rain on his face to hide them.

He left the Palace to scrub pots in Candlehearth Hall, in exchange for leftovers and a place to sleep on the floor in the kitchen. Elda Early-Dawn was a stingy proprietor, and had smacked him upside the head when he'd suggested she pay him a wage as well. Undeterred, Konur stayed on. The Stormcloaks wouldn't take him, but that wouldn't stop him from seeking their help. They owed it to one of their own. So all day Konur wiped tables, collected mugs, served mead, and more importantly, listened to the talk of the stream of Stormcloak fighters who frequented the place. 

He said his sister's name to any of the soldiers who would listen. Eygret Iron-Hilt. Eygret Iron-Hilt. Some shrugged. Others shook their heads. One or two nodded recognition of the name, but nobody knew where she was.

Until one night, Konur was wiping tables upstairs in the common room. It was late. The bard had stopped playing, and only a few patrons were still awake - old drunk Rolff and a pair of Stormcloaks nursing their mugs of mead. They, too, were drunk, and that was good for Konur. Drunk men had looser tongues. 

"Ralof lost Falkreath camp," one soldier was saying. "Damned idiot." 

"You don't know how it was out there," said the second. "I hear the Imperials had a powerful mage, and cavalry. And I don't see you commanding hosts of men."

"Ralof's a fool," the first man insisted. "When Falkreath camp fell, we lost the road to Ivarstead with it. Now the Legion controls all the roads from east to west. We can't march across our own gods-damned lands. We have to hide in the hills like bandits."

"It's not Ralof's fault. Galmar didn't give him enough men."

"Where was Galmar supposed to find more men - your mother's ass? We get what we get. We all do. Ralof fucked it up."

"Don't talk about my mother," said the soldier in a perfunctory way, too lazy to fight. "And shut up about Ralof, too. He's a good man. It wasn't his fault."

That name - Ralof. Eygret had mentioned him; he was her commander. Her friends had teased her because she blushed whenever she or anyone else said his name. 

Konur fetched a jug of mead, and filled the soldiers' mugs. Men were always more likely to talk to someone who was bringing them more to drink. 

"You mean Ralof of Riverwood?" Konur asked as he poured the mead.

"Who else?" said the first soldier scornfully.

"My sister fought with Ralof," Konur said, and the desperation in his voice reached the two men. They looked at each other, their argument forgotten. 

"Sorry, lad," said the first soldier, and his friend looked into his mug. There was a silence. "Here - why don't you sit with us and have some mead. Make you a man, this brew." 

Konur shook his head. "Elda would thrash me," he said. "Where would the prisoners be?"

Again, the two Stormcloaks looked at each other. "Prisoners?"

The blue blob of wax was in his pocket. Konur pulled it out, kneading it between his finger and thumb. "We had a letter," he said. "From High King Ulfric. They didn't find her body."

The first Stormcloak shook his head. "Wouldn't get your hopes up, boy," he said, quietly.

His friend nodded. "Probably your sister's dead," he said. "Better dead than captured, anyway. Especially for a girl." The first Stormcloak smacked him on the side of his head.

"What? It's true. Imperial bastards, they -"

"By Talos, _shut up_. Listen, boy. I hear the cowardly puke who thrashed our boys at Falkreath camp is holed up in Fort Neugrad. Legate Gravius, his name is."

"Holed up, pissing his pants," added the other, swigging his mead and grinning.

The first man nodded. "Pissing his pants, like Legionnaires do best. But if Gravius kept prisoners alive, that's where they'd be."

It was a long journey south. Konur passed through Kynesgrove, then skirted Whiterun, avoiding the city and the farmlands near it by traveling on the eastern bank of the river. If he was seen by anyone he knew, they'd catch him and haul him home. He travelled south through Riverwood, towards Falkreath hold, working at farms along the way to earn his passage. He'd considered stealing a horse, but thought better of it. Stormcloaks weren't thieves. They took what was theirs, and no more. Galmar might have turned him away, but Konur considered himself a Stormcloak anyway. If Eygret was, he was.

He reached Fort Neugrad, only to be confronted with his own powerlessness. He was here - now what?

Following his instincts, Konur watched, and listened, and worked. And that was how he found the Dragonborn.


	10. More Konur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This should have been in the previous chapter, that's why it's so short. Whatevs.
> 
> The next chapter will have porn.

"I thought the Dragonborn was supposed to be of Nord blood," said Konur. He pitched the last load of soiled hay from the stable floor into a wheelbarrow, then moved aside so Alexis could begin to throw down a clean layer.

Alexis grinned. "The Septim dynasty might have had something to say about that," he said. He knew he shouldn't be talking to Konur, for the boy's own sake, but he hadn't had a normal conversation in weeks. 

The fresh hay smelled good, and the day was warm enough that he was sweating while he worked. His body had almost completely adjusted to living without magicka. He had someone to talk to who wasn't entirely hostile and contemptuous of him. The morning sun angled through the gaps in the wooden stable walls, and Alexis realised he felt almost happy.

"Anyway," Alexis continued, "the Dragonborn are of Dragon blood. That's the whole point." 

Konur's face looked dubious at the explanation. He helped Alexis to rake the clean hay, the movements of his thin body efficient and practiced.  
"I don't know why Akatosh picked me either," Alexis said. "I wouldn't have."

"Well nor would I," Konur mumbled, his fair face suddenly flushing in anger. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "You're not _doing_ anything. What about Eygret? What about the other prisoners?"

"I'm - surviving," Alexis said, feeling oddly defensive. He looked around to double-check that they were alone in the stables. "See these?" He tilted his head to show the collar around his throat, then held out his cuffed wrists. "Can't shout. Can't cast. There's only one of me, and I can't fight the Legionnaires alone."

"There's two of us now," Konur said, and gave Alexis a long look before pushing the wheelbarrow out into the daylight.

***

"I know where the dungeon is," Konur said to Alexis that evening as they headed back to the keep, tired and dirty after a long day's work. 

"Quietly," Alexis told him. "I like my head on my shoulders." He looked around for eavesdroppers, but they were alone. He had to admit that Konur was good at waiting until they could not be overheard. "I know where it is, too," he said. "So what?"

"So I know where _Eygret_ is. I'm going to get her out."

Alexis wiped sweat from his forehead with his rolled-up shirt, then shook it out and slipped it back on. The air felt chilly, now that he'd stopped working and the sun had sunk low in the sky. "I see," he said. "Can you pick a lock?"

Konur frowned at his feet. "I've never tried."

"Can you pick a pocket?" 

"I'm no thief," the boy said, looking up with such indignation that Alexis nearly laughed.

" _Quietly_ ," Alexis said again. "I wasn't doubting your moral fiber. But there's no sense being squeamish about honor and such when you're in enemy hands." 

_Don't I know it,_ he thought. That reminded him that he had to get rid of Konur before someone came to send Alexis to the officers' quarters. Some things a child didn't need to know about. 

"Don't do anything yet, Konur," he said.

"I have to do something!"

They had reached the kitchens. If they stopped here, they'd have a few moments still out of earshot. Alexis caught Konur's arm and pulled him up. "Yes. But carefully. It's not just your life and mine to think of. Listen - as soon as I can, I'll show you how to break in somewhere you're not supposed to be. Until then, you stay away from me, and you listen. Find out where Ralof of Riverwood is, if you can. But Nine Divines, don't _talk_ to anyone about it. Understand?"

Konur nodded. 

"Good. Now go and get your dinner." Alexis laced his shirt, tucked it into his breeches and made to walk away.

"Alexis!" Konur pulled him back with a hand on his shirt sleeve. He looked at the Nord child's frowning face and felt a stab of pain and recognition. His face looked just like Eygret's for a moment, when she'd grabbed his arm in the fray of battle. 

"The soldiers at Windhelm - they said it was better for a girl to die than be taken prisoner. What does that mean?"

Alexis feigned puzzlement. "I don't know." He shrugged. "Maybe those soldiers think women are weak."

"Eygret isn't," Konur said.

"No, she isn't," Alexis agreed. "Your sister will be all right, Konur. Go and do what we decided."

Alexis made for the dining hall. _Talos, let her be all right_ , he thought, seeing Viera the maid scanning the room until her eyes found him. _Please don't let this all be for nothing._


	11. Evening's Entertainment

  
Chills ran up and down Alexis' body. A fire snapped in Gravius' chamber, but from his position standing naked in the middle of the room, the warmth didn't reach Alexis. 

A table had been drawn up beside the fireplace for Gravius and his bodyguards, laden with wine, bread and cheeses, along with preserved olives and figs brought from Cyrodiil. The smells of these delicacies from his childhood tormented Alexis, making his stomach rumble - he had been too late to get his dinner, that evening, and Viera had sent him straight to the Legate's rooms.

There he'd found Gravius and his two favoured bodyguards, Darius and Marcus. The three men had already been drinking and laughing together. Darius stood up, a mug of wine in his hand. 

"Here he is." The older bodyguard's rough face was flushed from laughter and wine. "What took you so long?" 

Alexis started to apologise, but was cut off as Darius began to kiss him thoroughly, his free hand holding Alexis' head. In moments, Alexis' heart was thudding as the old bodyguard's scarred lips took his own, and the sensation of stubble against his skin sent the inevitable thrill straight to the pit of his stomach. Tastes and scents went to his head as Darius' tongue pushed his lips apart - wine, spiced soap, a hint of salt, and Darius' own now-familiar masculine scent. 

Darius pulled away, leaving Alexis wanting, then gave his ass the usual slap and squeeze. "Strip," he ordered, his flecked hazel eyes crinkling at the corners as he smirked. 

"Sir," Alexis whispered, swallowing hard, the taste of Darius' mouth still on his lips. Marcus and the Legate watched as he unlaced his shirt and trousers and slipped them off. Gravius reclined in his chair, narrowed grey eyes raking over Alexis' body. Marcus' reaction was more subtle, but Alexis knew him well enough to notice his quickened breath.

Once naked, Alexis was pushed to the middle of the room where a length of chain had been looped over one of the rafters. This chain, when fixed to the cuffs around Alexis' wrists, pulled his arms high over his head - not high enough to take his feet off the floor, but high enough to keep his back straight, as though standing to attention.

He was left there, naked and vulnerable, while the men finished their meal and drank their wine. The Legate and his bodyguards let their eyes range over him whenever they pleased, making him self-conscious. The chill air made his nipples harden to small, stiff olive-brown nubs. With Darius' kiss and the three men watching him, arousal won out over Alexis' unease at this new situation. Feeling his cock harden, he cursed the ease with which his body betrayed everything he valued.

"You've had him a few times, now, Marcus," Darius said, grinning as he saw Alexis' growing erection. "Does he please you?"

"He does, sir," Marcus said. The young guard's eyes met Alexis' for a long moment before Marcus looked away. He was always the first to look away, Alexis thought, with an odd sense of satisfaction.

"And is he obedient?" Darius stood up again to run a hand through Alexis' hair. He took a handful and pulled it, before caressing a cheekbone with the backs of his blunt-nailed fingers.

"He's obedient enough, sir."

The older guard chuckled. "Got a smart mouth on him, hasn't he? Does make it interesting, though." The back of Darius' hand struck Alexis' face with a soft <i>crack</i>. Alexis turned his head with the light blow, accepting it without surprise.

"Easy," Gravius said mildly. 

"Sir," Darius said, acknowledging the order. He cupped Alexis' balls in the palm of one dry, calloused hand, and pressed his lips against the rim of his ear. "You're fortunate the Legate seems to like you so much," he murmured, sending a shiver down Alexis' throat. 

"Why damage one's own goods?" Gravius said, shrugging. "Turn around, Stormcloak," he ordered.

Alexis obeyed, turning to give Marcus and the Legate a view of his back and ass. Darius' hand shifted to Alexis' hip.

"He's thinner than when he arrived," said Marcus. He was right; Alexis knew his face and body had become a little gaunt, whether from missing one too many meals, or from being deprived for so long of the magicka that pulsed through every being on Nirn, he didn't know. He did know, though, that his eyes had developed a hollow look that he attributed to betraying his comrades every day he spent at Fort Neugrad, and every and night. Especially the nights.

"Looks well enough to me," Darius said, squeezing his backside. Alexis' stomach chose that moment to grumble, and the Legate and his men laughed at him. 

"Turn back to me," the Legate commanded. 

Alexis turned. His stomach knotted with anger, both at being displayed and ordered about, and at his own compliance. A Stormcloak should fight to his last breath rather than accept such dishonour. But with his arms above his head, utterly vulnerable to the whims of three Imperial soldiers, Alexis could not help but respond.

Gravius and his men finished their meal at a leisurely pace. Then with a half-smile, the Legate wiped his hands and stood up. Gravius rested his hands on Alexis' hips, his dominating presence thrilling Alexis deep inside. His hands were hard and warm, rough-skinned and strong. One left his hip to trace the cleft of his ass, and Alexis gasped, lips parting in arousal.

"Eager, as ever," Darius said, smirking.

"I will say one thing for him," Gravius said. "He has stamina." A calloused hand curled around his hard cock, and the Legate leaned in to kiss him. Alexis found himself pushing into the Legate's hand, taking his tongue deeper into his mouth, as a low groan rose from his throat and warmth flooded his body. 

"Good," Darius said. "He'll need it tonight." The old guard stood behind Alexis, hands on his shoulders, then running along his upstretched arms with the soft scratch of dry skin. 

Alexis was soon pressed between them both. Gravius began to kiss him deeply, and he tilted his head in submission. <i>Why?</i> He asked himself. <i>Why don't you fight? You never fight.</i> Then he was swept away by the scratch of stubble, the hard tip of Gravius' tongue, the taste of wine on the Legate's firm lips.

Darius' lean body felt hard against his back. Alexis heard him unlacing his trousers; and soon the old guard's erection was pressing between the cheeks of his ass, hot and hard. It felt undeniably good, and the longer he did it, the more Alexis' body responded, until he was pushing back against him in a slow rhythm, moaning and kissing the Legate passionately. 

"Get up here, Marcus," said Gravius, voice rasping with need. "Bring oil." The younger man downed his wine, breathing hard as he watched, then stood up.

There is a natural order to the proceedings, when officers take a prisoner. Everyone understands it; the highest-ranked is always first.  Darius took the prisoner by his shoulders to turn him around, and once again Alexis looked into the old guard's flecked, smirking eyes.

"Strung up like that, he can't suck cock," Darius complained, taking Alexis' chin in one strong hand. "You like to suck cock, don't you?"

"Yes," Alexis whispered. He saw no sense in denying that. 

"No matter," Gravius said, parting his ass cheeks and laying his warm, hard length between them.

Gravius smoothed Alexis' tangled hair, then gently bit the rim of his ear. "Oiled, or dry?" he murmured. Alexis shivered at the throaty rumble, and the Legate's lips moved to his neck.

"Whichever way pleases you," Alexis whispered back, "Legate Gravius." 

Darius laughed. "He's learning."  

"Mm." Gravius murmured approval against his throat, followed by light, nibbling kisses as he pulled himself to full erection with a palm-full of oil. Firm hands parted him, and the Legate penetrated, groaning in relish.

Alexis hadn't been expecting it so soon and, eyes shut, he cried out as Legate Gravius' length filled him. He arched his back, rising on his toes, his hands clenched in fists. 

Darius was watching his face. "Open your eyes," Darius said. "Look at me." A hand cupped his cheek as he obeyed. Gravius' warm fingers dug into his hips, holding him still. With each urgent thrust, their bodies met with a soft slap. Legate Gravius' breath rushed against his ear. Alexis was filled, taken, helpless.

Again Darius' scarred lips met Alexis'. "You tell the Legate how much you love to be fucked," the old guard murmured.

"I love it," Alexis gasped, between kisses. "I love to be fucked." 

"Mm, I know you do," Darius said. His rough-shaven chin scraped against Alexis' cheek. "You love his cock. Say it."

"I love your cock," Alexis gasped, and the Legate responded with a soft, possessive growl, thrusting faster. The familiar, sweet burn, deep in his ass, it hurt, Gods, it hurt - "Legate Gravius - please, I love your cock, fuck me, let me-"

But before he could reach his own climax, the Legate groaned and began to shake, mouth on the curve between neck and shoulder, biting down. A few hard, shuddering thrusts, and the Legate had spent inside him. Alexis felt Gravius' hot, solid weight as the Legate leaned against him, panting into his ear, and his cock ached, hard and unsatisfied.

"Divines, I was waiting for that all week," said the Legate, patting Alexis' hip as he withdrew, and Alexis groaned with need and loss.

But not for long. No sooner had the Legate let go of him than the warmth at his back was replaced by another. 

Darius spread Alexis' ass with his thumbs, giving a long sigh of appreciation, obviously relishing the sight of the Legate's seed, smeared all over his opening and between his cheeks. Alexis had always sensed that Darius rather liked it this way; liked to take him when he had just been used by another man, while seed still trickled fresh from his tender hole.

"My turn," Darius growled into his ear, and Alexis shook all over. 

Darius dealt a stinging slap to his sticky ass, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his head back and to the side, then forced himself into Alexis. Alexis cried out with the pleasure-pain of it, despite the oil and seed that eased the way for Darius to make his first deep, brutal thrust.

Snug inside, Darius wrapped his arm around Alexis. One hand was still fisted in his hair, and the old guard's stubbled mouth rasped against his throat, kissing, sucking, marking. Darius began to fuck him. Alexis shuddered in the confused warmth of it, the humiliation and almost-intimacy. Darius would ease out exquisitely slowly, then force himself back in with a buck of his hips and a grunt of pleasure. Alexis cried out with each painful, delicious thrust. If it had lasted longer, it might have made him come; but soon Darius was groaning behind him, peaking alone. His seed filled Alexis in long hot spurts.   
  
"Darius," gasped Alexis, as the older man pulled out, trailing seed from his spent cock. The guard leaned against him for a long moment, and they swayed together. The cuffs dug into Alexis' wrists. His ass ached; used but unsatisfied.

"Mmh," Darius grunted, patting his hip. The guard turned to young Marcus, slinging an arm around his broad shoulders. "Every time I have him feels sweeter," he said. "Going to take your turn, this time, Marc?"

"I - I don't know," Marcus said. His fair-skinned face was flushed red with embarrassment and arousal. 

Darius' arm fell from Marcus' shoulders to his waist. "No one will laugh at you, lad," he said. "You do what you want." Both men looked at each other, a second longer than needed, and the atmosphere was tense; something hung between them. If either one had leaned in first, Alexis was sure they would soon have been kissing each other. But the moment balanced on the edge of desire, then passed. 

Alexis understood something then - whatever they felt for each other, whether fleeting or deeper, it would remain beneath the surface. Perhaps that was why the Legate and his men wanted to take him together like this. If you could not make love to your comrade, perhaps the next best thing was to slide your cock into his seed, to share of his essence that way. He shook his head. 

To share a bed with a fellow soldier was the most natural thing in the world for Alexis. Skyrim nights were cold, after all. A roll in the furs together warmed the blood; and the comfort of a comrade's arms, man or woman, somehow seemed to make even an hour or two of sleep more restful. But sex ought to be shared willingly, not taken in an act of conquest. 

He had no time for such musings, though, as Darius spun him around and gave him a push. The chains restricted his movement, but the effect was as desired; Alexis stumbled into Marcus' arms. 

"He's yours," Darius said, as Marcus' hands settled hesitantly on his waist.

Gravius had wiped sweat and oil from his body and was reclining in his chair, watching them. His eyes scoured over Alexis, waiting.

"I am yours," Alexis murmured, tilting his head to bare his throat to Marcus in submission, a thrill running through his body. He turned to kiss the young man, awkward with the chains and cuffs to restrain him. He shut his eyes as they kissed. Marcus had not drunk as much as the Legate or Darius, and his mouth tasted of light ale instead of wine. The young man's shaft swelled and bulged against Alexis' thigh as they kissed. 

There was no sense in fighting, Alexis told himself; he had been taken many a time, whether shared between these men or sent to the chambers of one for that man's pleasure alone. Tonight was no different - they would have had him either way; beating or no.

Alexis kissed Marcus as he had the others - letting desire lead him, his body taking over from his head. The young man was hesitant at first, perhaps anxious in front of his superiors, but soon relaxed. When they were moaning against each other's lips, Darius' hard hands fell on Alexis' hips and turned him, his back to Marcus. The young man fumbled with his trousers, and the wet tip of his cock pressed against the base of Alexis' spine.  

"You're far too tall, Marc," Darius admonished, laughing. "Try this way." He turned Alexis again and both men lifted him, spreading his legs either side of Marcus' hips. 

<i>"Ohh,"</i> Alexis moaned, his legs spread over Marcus' pale waist, body tilted back, suspended by his wrists. The cuffs bit into his skin and he felt his shoulders pull, knowing he would feel that tomorrow, but not caring.

"Good," Gravius said, standing up to join them. Strong hands cupped Alexis' ass, easing the weight on his shoulders and wrists, and Alexis stared into Marcus' eyes as the young man spread him open and pulled his hips forward, forcing his sticky hole open around his long, hard shaft.

"<i>Gods! -</i>" Alexis gasped, closing his eyes. Marcus gasped, too, soft, pleasured sounds from deep in his throat, as Alexis drew him closer with his legs around his waist. 

"That's it," Gravius murmured, whether to Marcus or to Alexis, he wasn't sure. "That's it. That's good, isn't it." The Legate combed a hand through Alexis' hair. "Oh, yes. You can be an obedient whore, when you choose." Gravius kissed his forehead, his cheekbone, his throat. "You are a slut, aren't you? A lovely, obedient slut."

"Gods, yes," Alexis answered, in a throaty whisper. Marcus thrust into him. The angle was different, pushing Marcus' hard length against a place inside him that only a skilled lover would usually find; and then Alexis was lost. 

He crumbled, shaking and coming, spilling over his own belly, well before Marcus. The peak receded, then built again, hard and fast as Marcus came closer and closer. The Legate was behind him, kissing him, arms around him and hand in his tangled hair. 

A second peak swept over Alexis as the head of Marcus' cock nudged against that place inside, again and again; a third as Marcus groaned and shook, fingers digging into his hips. Alexis cried out in agony and ecstasy, his legs still around Marcus' body, savouring the delicious sensations as the young man spent his own seed. 

"Gods above," Gravius said, letting Alexis' body slide back, limp and used. Sweat cooled on Alexis' skin as he hung once more by his wrists, his whole body thrumming with pleasure. 

Darius chuckled. "Either you have some skill, Marc, or we've caught ourselves the easiest slut in the province. How many times was that?"

"I- I don't know," Marcus gasped. "I - Divines..."

"Three," said the Legate, grinning. "I counted. Let us see if I can do better."

***

After the three officers had finished with Alexis, Gravius had retired to his bed, permitting Marcus to sleep beside him instead of facing the cold hallways to return to his own quarters. Darius had been rather drunk by the end of it and was snoring in an armchair. They had left Alexis in chains, showing their utter contempt for his comfort. 

He had plenty of time to let the disgust over what he had done sink in. Afterwards, it was always different. In the moment, they could make him cry out for release; after, he cursed himself for a coward.

The fire was burning low, and although dawn was still a couple of hours off, a dim grey light filtered in from the high glass windows of Legate Gravius' chambers.

With every muscle pushed to its limit, physically and mentally exhausted from serving the Legionnaire's desires, Alexis had dozed even in his painful position, his head hanging. But it was impossible to really sleep. 

It was too quiet. Even in the depths of the night, sounds of quiet activity would always be heard - the low rumble of a pair of guards' muted conversation as they passed in the yard; a cleared throat, a suppressed laugh; the sounds of men who had a long night to pass with little to do. 

But tonight, there was nothing. 


	12. Pyre

Not a sound.

He had been taking his weight on his arms, which were still suspended from the chains looped over the rafter. Now he let his feet take the weight, and his shoulders ached as their position changed. The soft clink of chain echoed in the unnatural quiet. The fire died, and the chill set in. With a shiver, Alexis resigned himself to hours of sleepless cold.

He began to wait out the night, until something stirred - a soft scraping sound that echoed in his ears.

He had no idea where the sound had come from; it had been too delicate, too quiet. He was about to decide that he had imagined it, when it began again.

He struggled to attune his ears to the soft noise. He looked around the room, although it was too dark in the Legate's chambers to see much. There was the dark shape of Darius in his armchair; and there were the shapes of Gravius and Marcus on the Legate's large, fur-strewn bed.

It took several heartbeats before he could identify the sound. A click, a scrape, then a pause. Alexis realised suddenly that he knew that sound; he'd made it often enough himself. It was the sound of a lockpick, gently edging its way beside steel tumblers. It had that same hesitation, the tension of someone trying to make no noise. Someone was attempting to enter Gravius' chambers without the Legate's knowledge.

He drew a breath, ready to call out a warning to Gravius, then caught himself just in time. _What on Nirn is wrong with you? Have you forgotten your enemy as well as your dignity?_ No. He would give no warning.

The pick worked in the lock again; softly, carefully, almost silently. At times, Alexis had to strain to hear it, but there was now no mistaking its reality.

His heart began to thump, but there was nothing he could do but keep silent.

The lock gave a slightly louder _click_ , this time with a note of finality. There was silence, and then suddenly the heavy oak door creaked on its hinges.

Alexis nearly jumped out of his skin. He forced himself to stillness, silencing the motion of the chains that held his arms aloft. He realised he had been staring towards the door for what seemed like an eternity, and now turned his head - and saw that the armchair was empty.

"Beware!" Alexis called, his voice ringing out into the silence. He would forever wonder who he intended to warn - the intruders, or Legate Gravius and his men.

His voice had broken the stillness, and now chaos crashed through the room like water breaching a dam. Darius hefted his axe over his head and hacked down into the dark at the door handle, hoping to catch the hand of the intruder still on it. Gravius appeared, naked, dagger in hand; with Marcus darting ahead of him wielding the Legate's sword.

A sound like a thunderclap deafened them all as someone let off a scroll, and the room was lit up for a moment as bright as daylight; and in that flash Alexis saw the intruder for the first time.

"Ralof!" he called, but couldn't hear himself; for the moment he was both blinded and deafened by the scroll's spell.

Alexis felt, rather than heard, the _thunk_ of a heavy blade burying itself deep into the wood of the rafter above him. He knew that Ralof had thrown his axe at the chains looped over it. He pulled hard, and the chains gave. He fell to the stone floor, the chains still heavy on his wrist cuffs; but at least now he could move. Alexis scrambled to pick up the lengths of chain, and shot to his feet, desperately trying to see what was happening.

Ralof had not come alone. His Stormcloaks - fighters that Alexis did not recognise - were now inside the Legate's chambers. One was fighting Marcus; but the Stormcloak, whoever he was, was no match for the young Legionnaire's skill and reach. The Stormcloak fell, and Marcus' blade dripped dark with blood.

Gravius dispensed with another of Ralof's men. Scorpion-like, the Legate took the Stormcloak through the throat with his dagger in one sudden lunge. Even now, Alexis marvelled at the way he moved, so fast for his broad-shouldered build.

Alexis had been all but forgotten in the fray. But now he saw that Marcus had engaged another Stormcloak; an older man with a horned helmet and dark braided hair. The Stormcloak was losing ground, stumbling backwards under the Legionnaire's assault. He was able only to dodge and parry, each deflection bringing him closer to death. Alexis swung the chain from his right hand, wrapping it around Marcus' neck; and threw himself backwards with all of his weight. The chain bit into Marcus' throat, choking him. Marcus swung around like a wounded bear, an arm flailing, trying to catch the chain. Alexis swung his left hand low, and loosed the chain to wrap it around the Legionnaire's knees.

They were tangled together, stumbling backwards. Alexis crashed to the ground, Marcus following on top of him, his broad back slamming into Alexis' chest like a slab of stone.

His fighter's instinct told him what to do. His left hand was trapped, but with his right he grabbed the end of the chain around Marcus' throat and hauled with all his strength. Marcus fought him, shouting in a combination of rage and panic. An elbow caught Alexis' temple. It was hard enough to send his head spinning, but not enough to knock him out.

Alexis pulled the chain, twisted, using his arm as a lever. How long could Marcus stay conscious? Surely they had been struggling like this for an eternity, with Marcus gasping for breath, an awful gurgling noise coming from his throat. A second elbow struck Alexis' head, but slower, weaker. With a growl of effort Alexis gripped the chain in his fist and pulled it tighter, tighter… And then all of a sudden, Marcus was motionless, limp on top of him.

He realised that the sounds of fighting had stopped. Someone had lit a torch. Marcus' weight was rolled off him, and strong, capable hands began to disentangle Alexis from the young man's heavy body. Alexis pushed himself to his knees as Ralof appeared at his side to help him, blue eyes filled with worry and relief at once.

Alexis looked up, head spinning, taking in the carnage.

He counted two dead Stormcloaks, and three alive, including Ralof. Marcus' face was blue. As one of his Stormcloak rescuers unwrapped the chain, Alexis saw that the boy's throat was purple-black, bloodied and crushed. He was not breathing.

Alexis had killed him. He hadn't meant to. He'd just wanted him to stop fighting, to give up and lie still, but he was so strong!

Darius' body lay on the floor in the stillness of death. A pool of blood underneath him was seeping into the cold stone. His throat had been cut.

_Gravius,_ Alexis thought, a sense of dread in his stomach as his eyes sought out the Legate. He was not sure what he wanted to see, but sighed with relief to see Gravius kneeling, still very much alive.

Proud and cold-faced, with his eyes narrowed and that characteristic slight smile, he was completely calm. A picture of dignity despite being naked, on his knees, and at sword point.

Ralof broke the silence.

"Alexis! Friend, I knew you still lived. Are you injured?"

Alexis could not answer, still staring at Gravius. The Legate met his gaze with steady grey eyes.

"Here, brother," Ralof said. He draped a cloak around Alexis' shoulders - Stormcloak blue. Then he flipped a dagger in deft fingers and held it out to Alexis hilt first. It was Gravius'. Alexis took it, looking at it numbly. There was blood on both blade and hilt. Whose, he didn't know.

Ralof gave Alexis' shoulder a squeeze, then left his side to stand up. A Stormcloak passed him the Legate's sword, and Ralof took it.

"This keep is mine," Ralof said to the Legate. "You're prisoner to Ralof. Ralof of Riverwood."

Gravius laughed. "I know who you are," he said. "A famed coward. The so-called commander who never showed his face at the battle for the Valley of Orphan Rock."

"Well, you've seen my face now," Ralof said, shrugging. He rested the point of the Legate's own sword against his neck. Gravius didn't blink. "I claim Fort Neugrad in the name of Ulfric Stormcloak. If you have prayers to say, Imperial, make them quick."

Alexis' stomach tightened. "Wait," he said, and stood, fighting dizziness.

"You're right, brother," said Ralof. "His life is yours. Will you take it?"

Alexis shook his head. "Ulfric will want him questioned."

Gravius smiled darkly, grey eyes colder than ever, looking at Alexis. Alexis looked away. He knew the Legate well enough to know that he would never talk to Stormcloak questioners.

Ralof nodded. "As you say," he said. "Put the bastard in chains," he ordered to the remaining Stormcloaks. "Guards on him at all times, you hear? And see to our fallen. Have a pyre built in the courtyard."

He rested a light hand on Alexis' shoulder. "Come," he said, guiding him from the Legate's chambers. Behind them, the Stormcloaks began the first tasks of their occupation of Fort Neugrad.

"We have other prisoners we can question," Ralof said quietly, once they were out in the hallway. "Messengers. A scribe."

_He knows_ , Alexis thought, his stomach sinking. _He knows what I did_.

But Ralof's voice was free of judgement. "If you want him dead, you say the word," he said simply.

Alexis could only nod. He drew the cloak tighter around him as they descended the stairs to the courtyard.

***

Walking past the pyre in the courtyard, Alexis tried to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose. He had never quite got used to Nordic funereal customs. To burn a man's flesh, even when dead, seemed to him a terrible thing. The smell made his stomach churn.

The occupying force of Stormcloaks, and the prisoners from the dungeon - those who could stand - were gathered, watching the flames. Townspeople milled around too, curious but wary. Nobody, it seemed, had wanted to fight for the Imperials, but they were confused by yet another change of faction. If farm life and trade didn't return to normal quickly, there could be trouble. But that was Ulfric's problem now.

Alexis offered a prayer to Talos for the fallen, suppressing a feeling of vague resentment; the gods had seemed indifferent to the Stormcloaks at Fort Neugrad, these past weeks.

He walked through the crowd, seeking Eygret and the men with whom he'd first entered the dungeon. After what they had seen the Legate and his men do to him, that first night, he hardly wanted to meet their eyes. But he still felt glad to know they lived, glad to see their faces among the crowd.

The names of the Stormcloak dead were spoken. The casualties were remarkably few; Ralof had taken the keep with stealth, rather than overwhelming force. Alexis wondered what would be done with Darius and Marcus. They'd have wanted to be returned to Cyrodiil. He ought to tell someone. But who would care?

He could still hear the sounds Marcus made as he died - the awful gargled choking from his throat. He'd suffered, Alexis thought. It had seemed to take forever.

Relief filled him as he saw Eygret's fair head. She lived.

She was standing behind Konur, both of them staring into the flames. He was only a head shorter than she was, now. She held her brother tightly, arms wrapped around his chest. they both looked at Alexis, turning towards him with identical wide eyes and determined mouth. Konur's face was thin but healthy, freckled; Eygret's was deathly pale, with sunken cheeks and bruised eye sockets. he thought for a moment that she had been beaten, before realising that it was the effects of being half-starved and ill.

"Alexis," she said as she saw him, beckoning him over. He wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders, the bones too prominent under his arm.

She hugged him back. With dirty matted hair, her clothes in rags, she smelled ghastly but he didn't care. Her smile was warm and came easily, to Alexis' relief; he had feared she would find herself unable to speak to him.

"How do you feel?" he asked her.

"Better than I ever have," she said, managing a grin as they let go. Her blue eyes were clear - she meant it. "Of course, we all got sick as dogs down there. But we're free now, so what does it matter?"

There was a pause. She said quietly - "And you, Alexis?"

They both glanced at Konur, whose face remained unreadable.

Alexis shrugged. "I just worked, mostly. Konur helped me." He nudged the boy's arm lightly. "You can see they fed us well enough - look how he's grown."

Eygret gave her brother a possessive hug. "I know. He's almost a man," she said, with mixed pride and regret.

"Konur got us out," she said, resting bony hands on her brother's shoulders. Her eyes gleamed with pride. "He came up through the trapdoor down to the old sewer - you can't imagine how surprised we all were. And then when Ralof's head appeared beside his and Stormcloaks began to pour through - you should have heard us all."

I should have done that, thought Alexis. Konur was right - some chosen of Akatosh he was! Konur should have been the dragon born. Or Eygret. Someone braver, anyway.

"How on Nirn did you know Ralof was nearby, Konur?" he asked, admiringly.

"You said to find him," Konur said, shrugging. "I listened to people talking until I heard he was in the hills to the east. Then I went to get him."

"And the trapdoor? The sewer?"

"There's a dry creek bed west of here," he said. "The sewer used to run off into it. I found where it came from - a hole in the outer wall. There used to be iron bars over it, but they're rusted through." Konur said all this matter-of-factly, without any trace of pride or bravado, as though reporting that he'd bought bread and eggs at the market.

At Alexis' stunned stare, Konur shrugged again. "I told you I'd found the dungeon," he said. "You said you knew it too."

He'd thought the boy had simply identified the main entrance, which was in the middle of the keep. What an idiot he'd been - everyone knew where that was!

Unsure what to do with himself, he shook hands with Konur. "Well done," he said, rather lamely. Konur just nodded and returned to staring at the flames.

Eygret stroked the boy's red hair. "What a brother to have," she said, smiling again. She rested her chin on his red hair and watched the flames.

Alexis left them, then; a brother and sister reunited, at that moment needing only each other.


	13. Skybound Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexis and the freed Stormcloaks travel north, but the memories of Fort Neugrad are hard to dispel.

The new Stormcloak camp near South Skybound Watch was sheltered between the ruins of the old Nordic towers, but there was no real escape from the icy wind that blew in from the north. Not unless you wanted to go into the underground pass itself, of course, and fight it out with whoever or whatever currently inhabited it; but everyone agreed that was a task for tomorrow, when they had rested.

Alexis was among some twenty or so fighters who had opted to join Ralof on his next mission: establishing a reliable route for the Stormcloaks between Whiterun and the south. Most of the prisoners from the dungeon were here. Like Alexis, they wanted to leave Fort Neugrad and its memories behind them as quickly as possible; and since Eygret had come, Konur had too. Ralof had frowned, seeing the boy standing in line with soldiers, shouldering a pack that looked bigger than he was; but the Stormcloak commander hadn't objected. Alexis had the feeling it would not have been easy to separate the Iron-Hilt siblings.

The party had left the morning after Ralof had installed his forces at the Fort, heading for Skybound Watch, preparing for a hard few days' spent travelling and clearing the pass. To conserve strength, they'd travelled at a slower pace than usual; even the hardest of them had  
lost stamina from their time spent as Imperial prisoners. By sundown, they'd reached their destination.

Now that the tents were pitched, fires lit, and watch duties assigned, Alexis could begin to feel that his escape from Empire custody was real. With the familiar quiet hum of a fighting party's campsite, he could almost imagine things would go back to the way they were before he'd been captured - days spent travelling or skirmishing; and evenings spent drinking mead and telling stories in the warmth of a circle of friends.

But every time Alexis caught sight of a fighter who had once been a companion, in laughter as well as in battle, they seemed to look away from him. Not all were hostile; but the sense of _other-ness_ was palpable. 

Exhausted and still aching from the fight in Gravius' chambers, Alexis had spread his bedroll in a small tent and curled on his side. Nobody bothered him. Someone would come to get him for his turn on watch. 

He hardly trusted his own mind any more. His thoughts kept returning to Darius, the sight of his slit throat, all that blood; to Marcus' crushed throat and the sounds of his death; and to the Legate himself, still alive, now imprisoned in his own dungeon, calm and cold as ever. 

Alexis had no idea what he felt. He _should_ be feeling the vindication of justice served. Two of his enemies slain; one captured. These men had enslaved him, and starved his Stormcloak brothers and sister half to death in a filthy, rat-infested dungeon. But what Alexis felt was not satisfaction. 

What was it, then? Those three men had become his world, and two of them were lost forever. What would become of Legate Gravius, Alexis didn't know. Maybe he would face a fair trial, or maybe Ulfric would have him questioned. Alexis had no illusions in the High King’s treatment of enemy officers. Either way, Gravius would most likely be put to death sooner or later. 

A pang of worry and loss bit at Alexis’ stomach when he thought of that. It made no sense at all. He couldn’t even risk asking Ralof what would become of the Legate, lest the Stormcloak commander suspect his traitorous thoughts.

The flap of his tent moved, and Alexis sat up. There was Ralof now, crouching in the snow, a frown on his weathered face. He had taken off his chainmail, but his blue cloak was still wrapped around his shoulders. "What are you doing lying here, soldier?" he demanded. 

Alexis roused himself from his stupor, pulling on his boots. Damn! He must have been assigned some duty and forgotten it. “I’ll go to my post straight away,” he said. “Er - where do you need me?”

“Never mind that. You were supposed to see the mage at Fort Neugrad last night. Eygret says you never turned up. He’s here with us in camp - go and see him now.”

“The mage?" Alexis rubbed his face dazedly.

Ralof’s frown deepened from irritation to concern. "Don't you want to get rid of those cuffs? The other prisoners were freed at Fort Neugrad, but now I hear you decided to walk all the way here with the damned things on. And that collar. There’s a fight ahead of us, and we need you able to Shout."

"Oh," Alexis said, and sat up. The Silencing cuffs had become almost part of him, like the all-pervasive shame he felt since he'd come to Fort Neugrad. He felt an odd sense of apprehension at the thought of them gone.

“Come with me, now,” Ralof said, his voice softening a little. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether Ralof was his friend, or his commander. It was like that, with the Stormcloaks.

He emerged from his tent to see Eygret waiting with folded arms, looking equally disapproving. “You'll feel better when you can cast again, Alexis," she said. She held out a hand, a dull ball of light flickering in the cradle of her palm and curled fingers. "That's all I can do, yet," she said, "but by Talos, it's better than nothing."

***

The snowfall had stopped while Alexis had been moping in his tent, and the cloud had cleared to reveal a clear, moonlit night.

Ralof escorted Alexis to the tent belonging to the mage, tapped at the stiff hide that hung across the entrance, and ducked inside. Alexis followed.

The mage’s tent was a larger structure than most of those in the camp, and looked to have been set up as an infirmary as well as an alchemist’s workspace, with stocks of clean gauze for bandages, and a small stock of potions. Evidently this mage was a healer, too. A complex-looking set of alchemical apparatus were set up in the far corner, but the only piece of equipment Alexis could name was the mortar and pestle. The tent smelled of dried herbs and the earthy tang of crushed plant matter.

Alexis hadn’t met the mage before, and hadn’t noticed his presence on their slow trek up the mountain. The man was sprawled on a sleeping mat, as Alexis had been minutes before; he stirred awake, looking pale and exhausted enough to need healing himself. Dark hair framed his face in disheveled strands. He was a Breton with a week-old growth of hair around his mouth and chin. His lips were chapped, his eyes shadowed, and his cheekbones stood out a little too much, making his cheeks look hollow.

Ralof looked at the mage with an uncharacteristic hesitancy, but the Breton met Alexis’ eyes and a ghost of a smile curved his mouth despite the tiredness in his eyes. “Slipped through the cracks, did you?” His voice was hoarse as though he was recovering from illness.

“I can wait," Alexis said. "You look like you need rest."

"Don't we all," said the Breton, and stood up. He was tall, stooping beneath the roof of the tent. He had been sleeping in his trousers and was bare to the waist, showing a lean frame, too thin for his bone structure, his ribs prominent. "It's best not to wait," said the Breton. "You're the Dragonborn?"

Alexis nodded.

"Aye,” said Ralof. “Imperial bastards put some sort of collar on him, too. Stops him from Shouting. Think you can get rid of that, too?"

"I'll certainly try," said the mage. "I'll meet you out by the fire pit in a minute," he said to Alexis. He took a small leather-wrapped package from the stocks of potions and ingredients arranged neatly along one wall of the tent, and tossed it to Alexis. "Would you make some tea with this?" His Breton accent was crisp and well educated.

“He'll wait for you outside," Ralof said, leading Alexis from the tent with a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't have to stay," Alexis told him, as Ralof escorted him to the fire pit. "I'm not going anywhere."

"See that you don't," Ralof replied. "Eygret damn near murdered me when she found out you hadn't yet had healing." He clapped Alexis lightly on the back and, appearing to take Alexis’  
word, left him to his own devices.

Alexis had two mugs of hot tea ready when the mage ducked out from his tent. He was now fully dressed in fur-lined boots and trousers of supple hide, and a short, Breton-style wool coat that laced up at the collar. He was not wearing Stormcloak colours. Alexis handed him one of the mugs, and he wrapped slender hands around it. His long fingers were clean but purple-stained, evidently from some recent alchemy project.

"Thank you," said the Breton. “This was meant for you; in an hour or so, it will help you to sleep restfully, and heal.” He shrugged and sipped from the mug. “Still, I suppose it will do me good too.”

The Breton healer gave another faint smile as Alexis sipped from his own mug and coughed at the bitter brew. “A mixture of dried spores and moss,” the mage explained. “I apologise for the taste.”

The mage pulled back his dark hair and tied it. Firelight flickered on the bridge of his nose and his high cheekbones, and the hair on his face looked burnished red in the glow of fire. He rinsed his hands in a bucket of water beside the fire, then looked up at Alexis, who had been watching him with interest. 

"Rowan," said the mage.

For a moment Alexis thought he was referring to another plant extract of some sort, and blinked in confusion; then he realised that was the man's name.

"Alexis," he said.

"Well met, Alexis."

Alexis raised his eyebrows at the oddly formal greeting, wondering at the man's background. Rowan offered no hints, though, his face set in calm reserve. 

"Sit, please," the healer told Alexis, and he obeyed, choosing a log of wood that had been set beside the firepit for that purpose.

Rowan crouched in front of him and began a careful examination. The mage’s hands were warm from his tea mug as he slid them gently through Alexis’ hair to rest on his head. Of course, being silenced, Alexis felt nothing else - no brush of magicka against his mind, and no healing heat.

“Tilt your head forward,” Rowan said, “and let me see this collar Ralof spoke of.” 

Alexis bowed his head and moved his hair away to give the mage a better look at it. Rowan examined it, running his fingertips across the smooth surface.

"The same mechanism, I believe," he said. "I'll start with the cuffs - I've plenty of experience with those. Your hands, please." 

Rowan drew Alexis’ hands closer to the firelight and examined his wrists, which were still bound in strips of dirty gauze.

"This will need to come off," Rowan said, lifting the frayed edge of one piece of gauze to unwind it. The healer eased the cuffs back far enough to unwrap the gauze, slowly revealing the red, blistered skin underneath.

There was a long pause.

"Is everything all right?" Alexis asked.

Rowan frowned, turning Alexis' hands gently to look at the exposed, damaged skin. "No," he said, a flare of quiet anger in his voice. "No. This is not all right." 

A sense of disconnection came over Alexis as he looked at his own hands from the perspective of another. The skin of his wrists was a mess of scar tissue and raw, peeling burns. The weakened skin had been scraped away in places, leaving bloody patches. With the gauze removed, the wounds had begun to weep stickily, and to bleed in the worst places. Alexis felt like those hands and wrists belonged to someone else, until, for the first time in a long while, he registered the pain that had become a simple part of his life. Now that the prospect of ending that constant burning, searing sensation was in sight, it seemed all the more intense.

Alexis felt an odd sense of defensiveness. Gravius and his men hadn't hurt him as badly as they might have. The cuffs had been intended to prevent magickal attacks on the Imperial soldiers, not truly to harm the wearer; and it looked like the worst damage could have been done two nights ago, perhaps when he had the chain wrapped around Marcus' throat…

"They aren't usually this bad," Alexis said, pushing the memory of the young guard from his mind.

Rowan gave him a long look from green eyes that glinted beneath thick, dark eyebrows as he tapped a cuff with the back of a fingernail, producing a barely-perceptible ringing noise. "These are Thalmor made,” he said. “A moonstone alloy. I have seen wearers of these lose the ability to cast at all - with or without them on.” His eyes fixed on Alexis'. "They say the plantation owners of old Morrowind used a similar, and equally charming, approach with their slaves."

Alexis swallowed a cold knot of fear. He wasn't much for spells, but he'd always wanted to learn more. He'd just never got around to it.

"Do you think - have any of the others..." He trailed off, looking at the anger in Rowan's eyes.

"It's too soon to say," the healer said. "Either way, nothing can excuse this." He looked back at Alexis' wounds. Then he shook his head. "Let's just get the things off you," he said, his voice softened as though in apology for his harsh tone.

Strips of leather were slipped between each cuff and Alexis' skin. He discovered the reason for this when Rowan began to focus a fire spell to slowly heat and weaken one point on each of the circlets. 

It was a slow process. Rowan gradually weakened each circlet, applying his column of fire in intervals to avoid overheating the metal and burning Alexis. Eventually, he wiped his hands and stood up, swaying a little. The cuffs were warped, and weakened, but not enough to free Alexis from them.

Alexis knew little about magicka, but the process had seemed to take a lot of it. Rowan rubbed his temples and blinked dazedly. 

"What now?" Alexis asked.

"Now, I fetch the blacksmith," Rowan said, disappearing into the night, his fur boots silent on snow.

He returned with the blacksmith; a heavyset woman in her middle years, who wore a leather vest that left her thick arms bare from the shoulders. She seemed impervious to the cold. "I thought we'd done the last of 'em at Neugrad," she was grumbling. Her long straw-coloured hair was loose, rippled from its daytime braid, and she blinked sleepy eyes.

"Not quite," Rowan said. "Ingvilde, this is Alexis. Alexis - Ingvilde; master smith. I beg your pardon for waking you, Ingvilde, but we need your help."

"A Breton, and an Imperial - in a camp full of Stormcloaks," she muttered. "What's this?" Her sharp blue eyes took in the collar around Alexis' throat. "None of the others had that."

"No," Rowan said. "And now you see why I had to seek your expertise. I couldn't risk an amateur playing about with that."

"Hmph," said the blacksmith, as though dismissing this as flattery; but it was clear that some of her irritation was eased by the healer's words.

"Very well,” said Ingvilde. “You've melted the cuffs some?"

"Yes," Rowan replied, "just as you said to do. But not the collar; I thought I'd wait for your advice."

Ingvilde _humphed_ again, examining cuffs, then collar. "Cuffs are easy," she said. "I'll get my tools. And that - " she tapped the collar with a calloused fingertip - "No difference that I can see. You read anything from it?" 

“No," Rowan said, "although its purpose, I'm told, is different. I'm not sure I've the ability to detect anything amiss."

"What do you mean by that?" Ingvilde demanded. Rowan looked at Alexis.

"It's to stop me from Shouting,” Alexis explained. “Nothing to do with magicka."

"Huh," she said. "So that's you, is it? Never thought the Dragonborn would be an Imperial, that's for sure. Well, if you're a Stormcloak, I suppose it doesn’t matter." She strode off to retrieve her tools.

Once Ingvilde had brought her tools, she ordered Alexis to a boulder with a smooth surface that served well as a smith’s workbench. "Put your hands here," she said. "Keep still.”

Alexis pressed his hands against cold stone, apprehension turning his stomach. 

Rowan crouched beside him, a hand light on his back. "This will feel uncomfortable," he said. "It’s best not to fight it."

“Fight what?” Alexis asked. 

But Ingvilde had no patience for explanations. She placed a chisel in the weakened groove of metal that Rowan had formed with his fire spell. “Turn your head away,” she said. “There’s sparks, sometimes.” 

Alexis shut his eyes and braced himself.

Ingvilde swung her hammer - once, then twice. There was a flash that Alexis felt behind closed eyes, and liquid ice began to crawl up his left arm, freezing and burning at once. He was sure  
his veins would burst from the pressure. He doubled over, pressing his face into the stone workbench.  
Ingvilde still had hold of his arms, and she pushed his right wrist into position without missing a beat.

Two quick, hard taps of her hammer and chisel, and the burning ice crept up his right arm as well. The blacksmith released him, and Rowan guided him to the ground, where he curled into a ball as the sensation of searing cold swept over his body.

"Try not to fight it," the healer said quietly, and then his voice was lost in a waterfall roar as magicka swept into Alexis in an uncontrollable rush.

***

Some time later, Alexis woke. He was no longer outside. A thick fur had been draped over him. It felt like an ordinary bear pelt, except that it seemed to force a weight on his body so heavy he  
could barely move.

Slowly, his limbs responded to his commands. He felt for his wrists and throat, and touched only clean gauze; no metal. He became aware of a quiet pulse of magicka through his body, warm and vital, and breathed deeply. It was back! He hadn’t truly believed it possible, until now.

He raised a hand to try the simple spell Eygret had demonstrated earlier - a ball of light, cradled in the palm of the hand. Magicka flooded to his hand, but the spell flickered and died, leaving him drained. For a moment he was afraid his stores of energy would not return; but then he felt his resources slowly begin to rebuild.

“That’s good,” Rowan said, and Alexis turned his head to see the mage cross-legged on a fur rug close by, watching him. Alexis saw the alchemy apparatus set up in the corner behind Rowan, and realised they were in the mage’s tent. 

_So, I’ve found my way to his bedroll already,_ Alexis thought, a smirk touching his lips.

But Rowan’s face was unsmiling as he left the rug to sit beside Alexis. “You’ll have to train every day,” he said, “and it’ll be a long time before you’re as strong as you used to be. But at least you can be healed, now that magicka flows in you. May I begin?”

Alexis nodded, and Rowan rested warm hands on his body. Alexis laid a hand on top of one of Rowan’s, pressing it lightly against his chest. “Thank you,” he said, with a long look into the mage’s green eyes. 

A flush of heat touched the Breton’s cheekbones, and for a moment he seemed lost for words. Then his calm reserve returned. “Very good,” he said. “I’ll start.”


End file.
